Matters of Perception
by oconnellaboo
Summary: In a Post-Season 3 universe, an unhinged Walter Bishop finds potential peace in the most unlikely of places... with the most unlikely of people. RE-POSTED A CHAPTER  12  THAT I THINK I DELETED!  YIKES!  Thanks again.
1. Chapter 1

**Matters of Perception**

_This story is for entertainment purposes only. FRINGE is the property of Bad Robot, Warner Brothers Television, and the Fox Broadcasting Company. No infringement is intended._

Based on spoilers and speculation I've been reading in the online Fringe-verse, all of which now seem to be wrong… how is Walter Bishop faring without the steadying hand of his son? Not well at all, but what at first seems to be a terrible event may prove his salvation… and Peter's.

_**1.**_

It had, in Walter Bishop's opinion, started out fairly innocently. He didn't think much of it when he first heard the voice. He _had_ been stoned, after all – a special blend he'd mixed called Brown Betty.

He'd been stoned most of his adult life, really, but in the last few months, since the bridge had appeared, Walter found that being stoned 24/7 was vastly preferable to the sobriety required to deal with his alter, and with the events that had occurred. He didn't even know why Walternate – as they'd come to call him on his team – hated him, but hate him he did, with a vehemence that chilled Walter to the marrow. "It was an accident," he had told him when they were first confronted with each other; he didn't know why he'd said that, but it felt like the truth.

Fringe events had been happening at a furious pace since then. For some reason, they all believed that the exact opposite should be happening. After all, didn't the Bridge bring at least a semblance of balance to the universes? Walter never gave much thought to exactly how the Bridge had come to exist; it just _was_.

Luckily, they hadn't had to amber any of the tears so far. They had feared they might have to when Reiden Lake suddenly drained of its own accord. No warning, no word, no sudden climatic cataclysm; it just simply _drained_, leaving a frozen caldera in its wake. Reading the report filed by the local authorities, Walter found a portion of it had been intercepted and redacted by the Department of Defense. When he asked Agent Olivia Dunham why, she simply shrugged and said, "Government stuff, I guess. You know how they are – it was probably a missile dump site or something." Walter was satisfied with that answer. Olivia Dunham worked for the government.

Agent Astrid Farnsworth had been getting ready to leave for the day, and turned to Walter. "Walter, do you need a lift home? It's on my way."

Walter's eyes widened. He always dreaded this time of day; he barely managed to get himself out the door of his house to get in the car with Olivia every morning. It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to leave the house; he didn't exactly think it was fear, though. It was more like an overwhelming sense of the familiar, a need to stay where he felt safe.

He supposed that _would_ be called fear; he preferred to call it practicality. He was needed, essential, to the fringe event investigations. Why should he risk his safety by leaving the house, when he had built a perfectly serviceable lab in the unused – but strangely comforting – attic room at home?

Astrid's voice interrupted his reverie. "Walter? Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, yes, dear," he said irritably. "Uh… what did you say again?"

Astrid controlled the urge to roll her eyes. "Walter," she said gently, "Have you been using?"

"Using? Why, no, of course not! I wouldn't compromise the integrity of my work by performing under the influence! I'm not some college-aged stoner, doing experiments for laughs. I… "

_Walter_…

He heard the voice – a soft, male voice, gently scolding, but amused – as clear as day. He looked behind him, but saw no one. He looked to Astrid. "What is it, Walter?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said abruptly. "I'd like to go home now, please."

He said nothing else all the way home.

Walter quadruple-locked the door as soon as Astrid left. He didn't think he was rude to her; he just needed to be alone. Or not alone, as the case may be. "Hello?" he called out, half-expecting an answer without knowing why. When none came, he looked at the clock; it was 11:10pm. "Time for bed," he said aloud again, and shuffled up the stairs.

Too tired to shower before bed, or even turn on a light, he shed his clothes by the light of the moon streaming through his bedroom window. He climbed into bed, and pulled the covers up to his chin as he lay on his back and stared at the web of shadows created on the ceiling by the tree limbs outside. He was so tired, but as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was wide awake.

He tried humming some of his favorite Violet Sedan Chair tunes. He tried reciting the recipe for Coca Cola (complete with the secret ingredient). Nothing worked.

… _Get some rest…_

Paralyzed with something like fear, but not quite, he looked to either side of him without turning his head. No one there. "Crazy old man," he muttered accusatorily to himself, then went back to the task of getting to sleep. "Zero… one… one… two… three… five …eight… thirteen… twenty-one… thirty-four… fifty-five… "

_Row, Row, Row, your boat… gently down the stream…_

Tears filled Walter's eyes, and yet, for some reason, he couldn't say he was afraid. "Hello?"

… _It's me… stop talking and close your eyes, okay?_

Nonsense. "Eighty-nine… one hundred forty-four… "

_Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream…_

He should be afraid. He knew that. But he knew that voice. He loved that voice. And he would be perfectly content to stay right there in his bed, stay right here in this house, and never leave, as long as that voice – that comforting, slightly exasperated voice – never left, either.

And so, Walter Bishop decided there and then, that he never would.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thanks again to my Super-Beta, Dixiegirl256!**_

_**2.**_

Bruce Sumner always knew he'd see Walter Bishop again. It was just a matter of time. He knew from the moment Olivia Dunham showed up at St. Claire's to take Walter into custody that there was no way he'd survive on the outside. Walter Bishop was a disaster waiting to happen. Just a matter of time.

Sumner had been administrator at St. Claire's for nearly 20 years, and in that time he'd come to a startling realization: he really hated crazy people. The slightly delusional, even the eccentric, he could deal with, but the insane were beyond both his comprehension and his desire to help.

He categorized the inmates in his head as a form of diversion; he knew he was being politically incorrect calling them by that name, and the correct term was, "patient." But Sumner knew that a good number of them would probably never get out anyway. They were locked inside their own madness, while at the same time being locked away in this institution. A prison within a prison – so why not call them, "inmates"?

There was Harry Weldon, a construction worker from Falmouth who arrived after declaring that he had been receiving messages from one of the crossbeams on the 15th floor of the new library building. Sumner placed him in the "Delusional but tolerable," category.

Kalinda DuBois was convinced that a voodoo curse had been placed on her by her officemate at a local advertising agency, and retaliated by spiking the co-worker's bottled water with cleaning fluid. Paranoid, possibly dangerous, but Sumner reckoned that as long as he didn't steal her tape dispenser, he had no reason to worry about Kalinda.

Cameron King arrived about three months before Walter Bishop, and fell into a category all his own that Sumner hadn't found a name for yet. Highly intelligent and incredibly skillful with his hands, Cameron had pretty much become the institution's de facto handyman. If a machine was dead, you brought in Cameron, and he'd bring it back to life. He didn't speak much and seemed a bit skittish around people – not surprising, considering his rather auspicious arrival – but was generally pleasant, and no trouble to the attendants. He also entertained the other inmates with the occasional magic show or piano recital, but when he was finished, he'd simply get up, say, "Bye," and slink back to his room like some kind of benevolent specter.

Sumner knew why Cameron was here and actually felt sorry for the young man. There was no real indication that he was mentally ill, and yet...

Then there was Walter. Walter Bishop had been incarcerated at St. Claire's once before, seventeen years previous, after the death of his lab assistant in a suspicious fire. Sumner had heard about Bishop, and even read some of his articles in various journals. Walter Bishop was a crackpot who dabbled in pseudo-science and had a well-known reputation for performing dangerous experiments while stoned out of his mind. All in all, Bishop was a shame to the medical community.

He was also, however, a broken man. Rumors had circulated that as well-medicated as Bishop had been, he had drugged himself into near oblivion following his wife's miscarriage of a nearly full-term child in 1978. Bishop had become obsessed with any number of taboo ideas, including genetic manipulation, time travel and re-animation; God only knows what he was doing the night of the fire that killed Carla Warren.

Sumner had vehemently disagreed with the decision to release Walter into the FBI's custody three years ago. Walter was in no way prepared for the real world. But Sumner had no choice when faced with the writ of habeas corpus thrust into his hand by the grim-faced young agent that had arrived to collect Bishop. So, he ushered Agent Dunham into Walter's cell, then shut the door behind him, knowing full well he'd be seeing him again.

And one week ago, he did. The same Agent Dunham, looking visibly older and sadder than when last they'd met, signed the papers as Bishop clung to the arm of a younger, African-American woman, pleading with her not to let them put him away again.

"It's just for a little while, Walter," the younger woman said gently. "Don't you think you could use a little peace and quiet? It's been so stressful lately. Maybe a little time away will help you quiet those voices you've been hearing."

"But I don't _want_ him to be quiet!" Walter snapped. "He _helps_ me, don't you see? When I can't sleep, he sings to me, and when I can't figure something out, we work it through together. I just... I don't know who he is, but I need him, Astro. Please don't let them take him away from me."

The orderlies arrived at that moment, and Bishop was pried away from the young woman. He glared at the FBI agent. "Please, Olivia. Please. You know what I'm talking about. You feel it too. I know you do. We just have to find him. It's like he's begging us to find him."

"Walter, like Astrid said, it's only for a little while. You need a rest. I think we all do. I promise, I'll come up to see you as soon as I'm allowed to, all right?" The agent, Olivia, ran a hand over her hair nervously. "I promise."

Sumner, Walter, and the two orderlies watched as Olivia Dunham and Astrid walked away. "Why would she do this?" Walter murmured. "She knows. She _knows_."

No one replied as the orderlies ushered Walter away.

Sumner walked into the activity room a week after Walter's re-admittance, and spied him sitting alone. Walking over, he put his best sympathetic face on. "Hello, Walter, it's good to see you settled in so nicely."

Walter didn't look up, concentrating instead on the silver coin he was rhythmically passing between the fingers of his left hand. "I'm sure," was his only reply.

"Come on, Walter, it's for the best, isn't it? I mean, think about it. You and I both knew it wasn't going to be good for you to leave St. Claire's."

"_You_ knew, not me," Walter replied, continuing his manipulation of the coin. "When can I have visitors? I want to see Olivia and Azkaban."

"Maybe in a few days, Walter. You just need to relax. And rest assured we'll take good care of you. We'll – "

"I'd like to be alone, please," Walter said, barely glancing up from his hand.

Sumner was not a man who liked being dismissed, especially by the likes of Walter Bishop. "What is that you're playing with, Walter? You know that patients aren't allowed to have money of any sort on the premises. I'll have to take that." He reached for the coin.

Walter yanked his hand away angrily. "No! It's mine!" he shouted. "Don't you dare!"

A pair of orderlies started to walk over, but Sumner shook them off. "Walter, you know the rules." His reflexes quicker than Walter's, Sumner grabbed the coin from his fingers. "I'll keep it in storage for you." Walter opened his mouth to protest, but Sumner stopped him. "Not another word, Walter. We wouldn't want your first week here to end in sedation and isolation, would we?"

Ignoring Walter's tearful expression, Sumner smugly turned to leave. He nodded pleasantly as he passed another male inmate, amazing Walter with his ability to appear so benign after doing something so cruel. Walter heard Sumner try to engage the man in some polite conversation, but get no reply from the other man, before departing. Walter looked back down at his empty hand. "He had no right. It was _mine_," he whimpered.

A hand – another _left_ hand, he noted – appeared in his line of sight, performing the same sleight-of-hand trick, with _his_ coin. The hand then dropped the coin into Walter's. "Still is," a soft voice said.

Walter looked up in amazement as he saw a tall, thin man walking away wearing blue scrub pants and a long-sleeved gray t-shirt. "How – " Walter began.

The man turned around to face him. He was younger than his voice let on, with wildly curling, unruly brown hair, and a few days' growth of beard. His large, pale blue eyes were rimmed with nearly bruise-like circles; the look in them took Walter's breath away. Set in that youthful face were the eyes of an ancient. Nevertheless, he winked at Walter and a mischievous smile lit his face, erasing years from it. He put a finger to his lips, then turned and walked away.

Walter stared after the stranger long after he'd gone. Looking down again, at the coin now safely returned in his palm, he felt something he hadn't felt in months, possibly years. He felt at peace. Even here, removed from his cocoon of safety in his house, in a place where madness reigned, Walter Bishop felt at peace. Safe. And dare he think it, just a bit more _whole_.


	3. Chapter 3

_**3.**_

Walter would never say he was grateful for anything about the Godforsaken place he found himself in, but he did appreciate the fact that the administrator considered him a low-level escape threat. It gave him a certain freedom of movement, but it didn't mean his bedroom door wasn't securely locked at night. Walter spent many nights staring at the ceiling of his room, wishing he could at least take a walk to quiet his restless mind and spirit.

When not incarcerated as a patient, Walter greatly enjoyed being in medical facilities. Their stark, antiseptic walls belied the mystery and the magic that were perpetrated within. Life and death clashed and co-mingled in a symbiotic dance that thrilled Walter more than any old Astaire-Rogers film ever could.

Walter was having one of his restless nights, when not even a ten-minute run of the Fibonacci sequence could help him get to sleep. In vain, he waited for the strains of "Row, Row, Row," to lull him, but they never came. However, he was about to begin reciting Chapter 1 of Finnegan's Wake from memory when a sound reached his ears. Sitting up in bed, he cocked an ear, straining to hear.

Music? At this time of night? Walter rose and went to the door, only to sigh in frustration when he remembered he couldn't get out. He reached for the doorknob anyway; to his shock, it turned easily in his hand, and the door creaked open. Wincing at the sudden sound, and hoping no one heard it, Walter hesitantly stepped out into the hallway.

The barely discernible clicking of the night nurse's computer keyboard was the only sound in the darkened hallway, but for the now-louder piano music. Walter looked one way down the hall, then the other, and caught a quick glimpse of someone rounding the corner. He followed the mysterious figure, who seemed to glide down the hall rather than walk; no footsteps other than Walter's could be heard.

He turned the corner just as the mysterious person – a man, Walter noticed, wearing a fedora of all things – rounded the next. Cursing his slowness, Walter tried to hurry his pace, but stopped when he noticed that the music he'd heard had grown even louder. Distracted by the delicate piano tune that wafted through the air, he followed that instead, until he reached a room in a nearly deserted corner of the hospital.

Pushing the door open a crack, he stuck his head through and listened to the beautiful piano melody being played. Closing his eyes, he let the music carry him away – from St. Claire's, from his own demons, from everything except that moment. The song was innocent, simple, and yet bittersweet.

He hadn't even realized the music had stopped until a voice said, "If your head's going to come in, the rest of you might as well join it."

Startled, Walter couldn't decide whether to slam the door behind him, or step inside. In an instant, he chose the latter. "I… I'm so sorry… I didn't mean to… "

"Not a problem," the voice replied. Walter recognized it instantly as the voice of the young man who had returned his coin. It sounded familiar to Walter from somewhere else, too, but he couldn't quite place it. "You can turn a light on if you want."

The light switch next to Walter's head had a fader, and he turned it to brighten the room slightly, then walked over to where the young man sat at the piano, his back to Walter. "That was beautiful. I know the tune… " He hummed it for a moment. "I just can't quite recall the name."

"_Kinderszenen_. It's Schumann."

"Ah, of course. _Scenes from Childhood_. It's just lovely. You play very well." Walter drew closer to the young man. "Are you classically trained?"

"I have no idea," came the wistful reply as the young man turned around on the piano bench to face Walter. "Hey," he said by way of greeting, a small smile gracing his face.

"Hello," Walter answered, holding out his shaky hand. "My name is Doctor Walter Bishop."

The young man took Walter's hand in a firm, warm grip. "Mine's Cameron King, or so they tell me. Nice to meet you, Doctor Walter Bishop." He patted the empty portion of the bench, and Walter sat down.

"What did you mean by, 'So they tell me'? Do you not know your name?" Walter asked, mesmerized by the young man's pale, tired face.

"No," Cameron said softly, his eyes darkening as he looked at Walter suspiciously.

"I'm so sorry. That must be terribly frightening. How did you come here?"

"Well, now, there's a story for the ages. I was found wandering near Reiden Lake."

Walter jumped off the bench. "R-Reiden Lake? Are you sure?"

"Again, that's what they tell me. I don't remember any of it – I was catatonic when they -" He saw Walter become even more agitated. "Hey, hey, calm down, Walter." He reached out and took Walter's flailing hands. "Easy, now. Calm down."

Walter looked at their joined hands, and felt Cameron's thumbs gently stroking his knuckles in a calming gesture. Walter felt a warmth seep into him that he hadn't felt in ages. "See? Just breathe. Everything's okay. Now, come sit down again." Cameron drew Walter back to the bench, and they both sat in silence for a moment before Cameron changed the subject. "So, as they say in the movies, what are you in for?"

"A rest… _so they tell me_." Walter was rewarded with a grin from Cameron. "And you? Amnesia isn't usually a cause for institutionalization. You seem quite lucid to me." He paused. "But consider the source."

"Hm. Good point," Cameron agreed, and Walter burst into laughter. As Walter wiped his eyes, he continued, "But no. It's not the amnesia. I… " Cameron's smile faded and he hung his head slightly.

Walter sought out the young man's eyes beneath the riot of brown hair that hung over them. "What happened, son? Tell me."

"I don't _know_ why I'm here. I just… am." Cameron suddenly looked up. "Anyway, enough about me. Got any requests?"

Taken aback by his young friend's change in demeanor, Walter decided it was wise just to let it go. "Well… I would love to hear some Bach. Mass in A Minor. Will you play it for me?"

Cameron's eyebrows rose, and he whistled through his teeth. "Wow, you don't mess around, do you? Well, it just so happens I know that little ditty, so… Bach it is. Next time, pick some jazz, though, will ya?" He placed his hands reverently on the keys, and began to play.

Walter slept better that night than he had in a long time, comforted that he'd found a friend in St. Claire's. He was still waiting for a visit from Agent Dunham, or that charming young lady Astrolabe, but having Cameron to talk to would make that wait more bearable.

As he entered the bustling activity room the next day, he noticed Cameron standing by the window. Walter made his way over to him. "Good morning, Cameron!" he said brightly. "I just want to tell you again how much I enjoyed your impromptu concert last night."

Cameron didn't reply, continuing to stare blankly out the window. Walter noticed he looked even wearier than he had the night before, the circles under his eyes more pronounced. The window frame seemed to be holding him upright, as his head rested against the side. "Cameron? Are you all right, son?"

"I am not your son," Cameron whispered. There was no harshness in his tone, only melancholy.

Still, the words hit Walter like a slap in the face. "I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be forward. It… It was just a figure of speech. I… "

An orderly came over. "Cameron, time for your session. C'mon, let's go," he said brusquely, taking Cameron by the arm.

Cameron allowed himself to be led away, but he looked over his shoulder at Walter briefly as he left. Walter saw an emptiness in his eyes that cut him to his heart. "Cameron? We'll speak later, all right?" Walter called, receiving no reply as the orderly took Cameron away.


	4. Chapter 4

He couldn't move his arms. Cold steel locked around them, as well as his feet up to his ankles. Cold steel that bit into his skin and sent a strange tingling sensation close to pain throughout his body. He no longer felt human. He was a device. The conduit.

The Machine.

Reality around him ceased to exist. He thought he heard voices calling his name, but he couldn't make out what the name was. Snippets of conversations slipped under the wall of sound that surrounded him – "Son," "Heart rate," "Wrong" – but nothing made sense; nothing but the power surging through him, tearing him apart, spilling blood down his arms and from his nostrils. Another voice echoed in his ears above the din:

"I am become Death. The Destroyer Of Worlds."

He saw a man in the distance, with a gun. He saw a woman – beautiful, serene; he thought he loved this woman.

He saw the man shoot the woman between the eyes. He saw those eyes staring blankly, unseeing, at a gray sky streaked with lightning. Tears mixed with the blood streaming down his face, and finally, only then, did he scream…

"NO!" Cameron bolted upright in his bed. He felt tears streaming down his face, and hastily wiped them away, looking then at his trembling hand to make sure they weren't mingled with blood. He ran the same sweaty, wet hand through his hair. "Jesus," he whispered. "Not again."

He sure as hell wasn't going to mention this to the shrink in his session tomorrow, just as he hadn't mentioned it in today's session, or the one before that. He didn't really say much of anything in them, anyway. What did he have to tell them?

The sessions always followed the same pattern. He'd walk in – or be led in by the orderly – and sit down, staring just over the shrink's shoulder. He couldn't remember the name of the usual doctor, but that day, he was treated to a session with the Big Cheese himself, Dr. Sumner. "So, Cameron, how are you today?" Sumner had asked in his most sincere benevolent-despot voice.

"I'm good," he replied succinctly.

"You still look very tired. Have you been sleeping?"

"More or less. I'm fine."

"I'm going to prescribe something. And also have some blood work run, all right?"

"That's fine," Cameron said flatly.

Sumner sighed. "Cameron, you have to talk to someone sometime. I know your arrival here was traumatic, but if you don't start talking, we'll have to resort to other methods of unlocking your mind."

"That sounds like a threat," Cameron commented mildly.

"Not at all. But sometimes, medication can make it easier for a patient when it comes to opening up about what's troubling them. I don't want to do that, but you have to help me help you." A wry smile crept across Cameron's face. "Did that amuse you, Cameron?"

"No, not really."

"I hear you've become friendly with Walter Bishop, is that true?" Sumner scribbled in his notebook as he spoke.

"He's a nice man. Sad. Lonely." Cameron looked down and picked at an invisible piece of lint on his sweatpants.

"You interact with him more than with anyone else. Why do you think that is?"

"He's a nice man," Cameron repeated. He felt like Sumner was fishing for something, but he had no idea why he felt that way. He just knew he couldn't trust the man; that he had some sort of agenda when it came to him. Or Walter. Or both of them.

So he shut down. He gave Sumner cursory replies, exchanged pleasantries, and told him what he thought he wanted to hear. And when time was up, the orderly would fetch him and he would allow himself to be escorted back to his room, where he would go to sleep, and have the dreams. Again.

Cameron froze when he heard a voice in the dark. "It is always the same dream." Cameron squinted and could just make out the figure in the corner, wearing a suit and fedora. He wasn't surprised to see him; this visitor made an appearance at least once a week in Cameron's room. Cameron wasn't afraid of it; after all, he had to be in St. Claire's for a reason, right? It might as well be for visual and auditory hallucinations.

"Yeah," Cameron replied, his voice nearly as shaky as his hands.

"It must be difficult," the figure said, stepping out of the shadows. "To be neither here nor there."

Cameron swiped angrily at a tear he didn't realize had fallen on his cheek. "Neither here nor there," he repeated. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"What is your name?"

"I don't know," Cameron replied.

"Why are you here?"

"I don't know," he said again.

"_Are_ you here?"

Cameron sprang from the bed toward the figure, then stopped, shoulders sagging. "I don't know."

"What _do_ you know?" the figured queried, a tinge of sympathy in his normally flat, toneless voice.

"I… I know… somehow… this is for the best." Cameron sat down heavily on the bed, defeated. "Is she all right?"

The figure sat down next to Cameron, his hands palm-down on each of his legs, his back ramrod straight. "Is who all right?"

Cameron opened his mouth to speak, then quickly shut it again, his brow furrowing with a pain that went beyond the physical. "I don't know," he replied, his voice barely audible. "Why did I ask that? I don't know." He wrapped his arms around his middle and rocked forward. "Oh, God… ohGodohGodohGod… what's wrong with me?" He moved his hands to his head, making fists and beating them against his forehead. "I feel like I'm here. Like I'm _physically_ _here_. But when I'm out there," he pointed beyond his bedroom door, "It's like I'm outside of everything. Like I can't talk to people, deal with anything. Like I'm just – "

"Observing?" The figure finally turned his head to face Cameron. Cameron nodded imperceptibly. "That was the initial plan."

"Plan? There's a plan? I'm part of a _plan_?" Cameron's voice rose.

"You were… ill-suited," the figure answered, his lips almost curving in a smile. Almost. "I believe you would call that a pun."

"Yeah, whatever," Cameron snapped. "Do you know who I am?"

"I am aware of who you may have been, but are no longer." The figure turned his entire body now to address the distraught young man. "There are things you still know. You can hear them in your mind at night."

"I can," Cameron agreed. "I don't understand it. At night, I hear things, see things in my mind. Bits and pieces. Words. Voices. Music – weird shit, like children's songs. One night, I just found myself singing 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat,' out loud for no damn reason." He shook his head, dropping it into his hands. "Maybe I'm just nuts. No wonder I get along so well with that new guy."

"Walter Bishop."

"Yeah, Walter. You know him, too?"

"In a sense. You interact with him, when you cannot with the others." At Cameron's inquisitive stare, he added, "I am aware of your activities during the day."

"That's so comforting," Cameron said sarcastically. "But yeah, I do. No idea why, but I just can. Everybody else, it feels like they're talking to me from… from another place, I guess. Like I'm at the end of a tunnel, and they're at the other end, and it's all just noise. But I hear Walter." He laughed mirthlessly. "Emotional quantum entanglement." When the figure said nothing, he said, "two people interacting even though they're separated by a great distance. Only in this case, the distance is only in my head."

"Are you so sure?"

Cameron rose again and began to pace. "Okay, now you're really making me nuts. Are you saying that I feel disconnected from everything, except when I'm with Walter, because I actually _am_ disconnected from everything?"

"There was an incident once, not very long ago. A woman had lost her husband, and her grief was so strong, it tore a hole in the fabric of time and space. She could see the husband she lost, in another universe – brought his partially into her own. Grief… love… longing… somehow, these things seem able to transcend the realm of reality. It came as a very great surprise to us."

"Who's 'us'?" Cameron stopped pacing for a moment. "Look, man, if you know something about me, just come on out and say so, okay? 'Cause if I don't figure this out soon, I really _am_ gonna be crazy."

"You _should not_ be here. You _were not_ here. And yet, you _are_ here. A great sacrifice was made. One that should have gone unnoticed. And yet, it has not gone unnoticed. For here you are. Perhaps there is a reason for this. It is fascinating."

"Please," Cameron pleaded. "Who am I?"

The Observer looked into Cameron's eyes. The depth of emotion, the sheer torment, contained in the young man's face intrigued him, but also made him feel something more for him – which also intrigued him, because he shouldn't have felt anything at all. "I am not allowed to say who you are. It has not been decided. But I can say who you were."

"Who? God, please tell me," Cameron implored.

"You were… someone who loved, and was loved." With that, the Observer stepped back into the shadows, and was gone.

Cameron didn't bother to stop his tears from falling this time. Instead he allowed the silent flow to continue down his cheeks as he curled himself into a fetal position on his bed. "Please," he whispered to the darkness, "Find me."


	5. Chapter 5

_A big Thank You! to everyone who's reviewed my story. An even bigger THANK YOU to DixieGirl, Beta to End All Betas!_

Olivia Dunham enjoyed the rare moment she was alone in the Bridge Room. The tension was always so thick you could cut it with a scalpel, as if they needed any more. The increase in Fringe events since the formation of the Bridge had both Walters baffled, and the scientists at Massive Dynamic working overtime.

She was tired; down-to-the-bone, physically and mentally exhausted. Being Walter's guardian had been nearly a full-time job, but now that Walter was in St. Claire's, she still couldn't rest. She actually missed the old man in a way. Except for a few brief temper tantrums, Walter Bishop was one of the most benign madmen she'd ever encountered.

Olivia wasn't really sure they had done the right thing putting Walter back in the hospital; his auditory hallucinations had, indeed, progressed to the point where Walter had started hearing the phantom voice at home. The hallucinations had previously only happened from time to time in the Bridge Room; Olivia attributed it to stress, as they usually coincided with a Fringe event. The day Reiden Lake drained, in fact, Walter had become particularly agitated, claiming he heard the sound of someone screaming coming from the Machine. Olivia saw and heard nothing, and assuming she would have sensed something due to her connection to the Machine, she chalked it up to an overdeveloped sense of guilt. Walternate had been hammering Walter pretty hard about his culpability for the situation at the time.

Olivia wandered over to the dormant behemoth they called The Machine and stared at it. Where had it come from? Did it create the Bridge? At first, it was thought that Olivia herself had created it, but she would have remembered that. Wouldn't she? They all remembered the sound of the Machine as it powered down in the Bridge Room, but they had no recollection of who had turned it on in the first place. Things had started happening so quickly after that, no one really had the time to investigate it thoroughly. Olivia reckoned that sooner or later, they'd get to the bottom of it; it wasn't as if the Machine was functional anymore anyway. It was the world's largest room accessory at this point.

Sleep was elusive, and so she found herself alone in the Bridge Room. She couldn't quite figure out what drew her here this night; normally, insomnia drove her to her living room couch with a book and a glass or four of scotch. But for some reason, her book – If You See the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him! – didn't entice her, and even the scotch held no allure. She felt… unsettled. Like she had an itch somewhere, but didn't know where to scratch.

And so she found herself inexplicably drawn to the Bridge Room. She sat at the tiny table she called a desk, and did busy work. She moved papers from one side of the desk to the other, she sharpened pencils she never even used. She was about to start making a paper airplane, when she slammed the paper down on the desk. "This is ridiculous," she said aloud. "What the hell am I doing here?"

As she got up to grab her coat, she heard a sound, coming from the direction of the Machine. _It's the room settling_, she thought to herself, but stepped toward the Machine anyway. Leaning in slightly, she listened more closely, then stepped back abruptly.

It sounded like the Machine was _breathing_.

Gathering herself, she shook her head in denial and stepped forward again until she was directly in front of the device. Suddenly, she saw a flash of lightning through the skylight, and the room was plunged into darkness. In the darkness, Olivia's rapid breathing mingled with that emanating from the Machine. It caught in her throat when she heard a voice:

_Find me_…

She blinked as the harsh lights came back on, frozen where she stood. "What the hell?" she whispered.

"My sentiments exactly." The alternate Olivia Dunham - Liv, as she was known on the Bridge – swept through the door, her auburn hair dripping with rain. "Almost made it, but as soon as I got out of the van, _whammo_. Downpour. And did you see that lightning? Damn." Liv looked at Olivia, who hadn't turned, for a moment, then said, "What's with you? Somebody pee in your Corn Flakes or something?"

Olivia finally turned to face her alternate. "I… it's nothing. Just insomnia catching up with me. The lights went out for a second, and I got a little spooked."

"Really? With everything we've seen, a _power outage_ freaks you out? I love it." Liv swaggered over to Olivia, but her cocky attitude faded when she looked closer at Olivia's stricken face. "Seriously, Dunham, what's wrong? You like you've seen a ghost or something. Which wouldn't surprise me, either, come to think of it."

"Have you ever heard any sounds coming out of the Machine?" Olivia asked bluntly.

"Sounds? What kind of sounds?" Liv replied incredulously.

"I don't know, any kind of sounds. Creaking, groaning, air escaping…"

"You're asking me if the Machine has gas?" Liv laughed. "Honest to God, Dunham, you're starting to sound like Walter. The day the lake drained, he ran around babbling that someone was crying in there."

"Screaming," Olivia corrected her. "He said someone was screaming as though he were in terrible pain."

"_Psy_-cho," Liv said disdainfully in a sing-song voice.

"Any more psycho than having a conversation with yourself from an alternate universe?" Olivia countered.

"Touché," Liv conceded. "So, are you saying you heard something coming from the Machine? Tell me exactly what."

Olivia opened her mouth to reply, but shut it immediately. "It was nothing. Sounded like air escaping. Probably just a stray wind that came in under the door blowing through the parts. Creepy though – it sounded like breathing." She forced a laugh. "Guess I should've stuck to the book and the scotch."

"You should try herbal tea instead," Liv suggested. "I could bring in my favorite blend for you if you'd like. Works like a charm. Well, that and some good, hard sex."

"How _are_ things going with you and Lincoln? I still can't believe the division allows you to have a relationship with your partner. It's frowned on big time at the FBI." Olivia frowned herself at the memories of her clandestine rendezvous at No-Tell motels with John Scott.

"Things are good," Liv said unenthusiastically.

"But?"

"No, no, it's good. God knows he's devoted to me. And he tries to do everything to make me happy. Truth to tell, though, Dunham… " She paused.

"Go ahead," Olivia encouraged her.

"The sex is… perfunctory." They looked at each other, and laughed. "I can't believe I just said that."

"I can," Olivia chuckled. "What's wrong? Is he not romantic enough?"

"It's not that he's not romantic. He is, kind of." She shrugged. "I just keep thinking I've had better, ya know? I want a guy who'll bring me breakfast in bed, surprise me with little things. I don't know… Jesus, I sound like such a girl."

Olivia sighed. "No, you sound human. I can't even remember the last time anyone was romantic with me. With all this craziness around, I do wish sometimes I had someone I could wake up with in the morning. It's the only time of the day that things feel new. Full of promise, ya know? And to have someone to share that with… "

"A burden shared and all that?" Liv said.

"Something like that, I guess."

"That's bullshit." Olivia's eyebrow rose. "C'mon, Dunham, you know as well as I do that we do the heavy lifting. Having a guy around is great, don't get me wrong, but it's still you and me that bear the brunt of the load. I mean, Linc won't even do the frickin' laundry."

"It's not always that way. There must be guys out there who are truly supportive, real partners."

"Yeah, well, we'd probably have to find _another_ alternate universe to track down _that_ guy."

For some reason, Olivia's eyes wandered back to the Machine. The phantom voice – full of pain and yearning – echoed in her mind.

_Find me._

She made up her mind to go to St. Claire's and see Walter.


	6. Chapter 6

Walter sat at a small table in the activity room and stared at the door. One hand drummed on the table, while the other played with the coin in the pocket of his sweater. Normally he wore his scrubs and bathrobe all day, but today was special. He ignored the various patients who came up to him, shooing them away lest they should disturb his visitor when she arrived.

The door opened, and Olivia Dunham, wearing her standard black pants suit and dark wool coat, entered. Walter practically leapt to his feet. "Agent Dunham! Oh, it is so good to see you!" Rushing over to her – and drawing the stares of the orderlies positioned in each corner of the room – he enveloped her in a warm hug.

Awkwardly, Olivia patted Walter's back once with her hand. "Hi, Walter. It's nice to see you, too." She extricated herself from his grasp, and led him back to the table. She sat down opposite him, examining his beaming face. "You look great. How do you feel?"

"Confined," he said, his smiling disappearing. "But, I suppose it could be worse. You look splendid, Olivia. Tired, but splendid. You're a sight for these sore old eyes."

Olivia tucked a hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. "Thanks, Walter."

"So, what's the news from outside? Is Ashmolean with you? How is she? She's a lovely girl." Walter took Olivia's hands in his.

"In order, Fringe events are still happening, _Astrid_ is doing field work today but promises to come to see you soon, and she's fine." Olivia smiled fondly at Walter, noting that he did look better than when she last saw him. He didn't look medicated, which pleasantly surprised her. "Walter, I was wondering if maybe you were up to a little consulting?"

Walter eyes widened with delight. "Of course! When do we leave?" He started to stand, but Olivia held his wrist to guide him back into his seat.

"No, Walter, you're not leaving today. I just need some… advice, I guess." Olivia picked up a piece of craft paper that lay on the desk and started absentmindedly folding it.

Disappointed, but intrigued by Olivia's request, Walter reached over again and stilled her hands. "What is it, dear?"

"Do you remember what you said the day Reiden Lake drained?" Olivia asked gently.

"I believe I said a lot of things that day," he replied. "Most of which were pooh-pooh'd as the ravings of a lunatic," he added bitterly. "Your other self called me a 'wack job,' if memory serves."

Olivia sighed. "I know, and I'm sorry about that. But do you remember hearing a sound coming from the Machine that day?"

Walter leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on the arms and his hands interlacing in front of his mouth. "Yes," he said deliberately. "What about that?"

"There was an electrical storm last night on Liberty Island. I was in the Bridge Room alone, and at one point during a lightning strike, I… " Olivia paused, not sure how to say what came next without winding up in a room down the hall from Walter.

"You heard something, didn't you, Olivia? Tell me," Walter insisted.

"I did. It sounded at first like breathing… like someone had been crying and was trying to catch their breath. And then, I heard a voice, Walter. Clear as day."

"What did he tell you?" Walter prodded her.

"How do you know it was a male voice?" Olivia snapped.

"Was it not?" he countered.

Olivia's eyes narrowed in frustration. She hated it when Walter got smug. "Yes, Walter, it was."

"I repeat, what did he tell you?"

"_It_ didn't _tell_ me anything. It was… a plea. It sounded so lost. Desperate. It said, 'Find me.'"

Walter leaned forward again, tears in his eyes. "It sounds like someone is trapped between the worlds. Or perhaps… "

Olivia watched as Walter sorted through the possibilities in his mind. It never ceased to amaze and fascinate her how Walter's mind worked – when it _did_ work. "Perhaps what, Walter?"

"What if when the Machine was operating, it didn't just build a bridge between our two worlds, but actually started to create a third? What if its power source was suddenly cut off somehow, and this man we keep hearing was pulled partially into our world, but got trapped when the Machine powered down?" Walter visibly shuddered. "Dear God, I wouldn't wish that on anyone. It must be horrible."

Olivia thought back to David Robert Jones, the desperate madman who tried to cross over a few years ago, but was literally cut in half when the rift was closed by Walter's Dis-Re device. "A third universe? Good God, Walter, we have enough trouble with _these_ two! Are you saying that the reason we're still having Fringe events despite the Bridge being created is because there's _part_ of a third universe lurking inside the Machine? How could that happen?"

Walter thought another moment, then said, "It would take something of enormous power to open a portal to a third universe. Perhaps there were outside influences as well, but I'm damned as to what they might be." His eyes lit up. "Olivia! Isn't this wonderful? It's just extraordinary!"

Olivia slammed her hand down on the table, drawing the attention of the attendants. "No, Walter, it is _not_ wonderful!" As she saw one orderly approach, she waved him off. "Sorry," she called, "I was killing a fly." She brushed the imaginary insect off the table – amusing Walter greatly – then gathered herself to continue. "We still don't know how the Machine started working in the first place. What the hell could have caused something like this?"

"As I said, something incredibly powerful. Anything from a massive, undetectable EMP, to extreme psycho-kinetic energy. The kind _you_ possess Olivia," he said pointedly.

"Me? Are you kidding? What, you think I created the Bridge, and accidentally tore a hole to a third universe at the same time?" Her voice rose. "Honestly, Walter, you give me way too much credit."

"Olivia, we've already confirmed that you have the ability to bend reality," Walter commented.

"But the Machine needs an operator. You said so yourself. A genetically compatible human interface. And we did the tests – it wasn't me. It _isn't_ me."

Walter sighed. "Olivia, open your mind. There are other ways to influence events other than through literal manipulation. You set _fires_ when you were upset as a child. Not just with your mind, with your emotions. And remember Mrs. Merchant! You saw what an ordinary woman was able to do."

Olivia was about to object again when Walter looked over her shoulder. "Oh! Look who's here! Olivia, I was going to tell you, I met a marvelous young man… Cameron! Hello! Over here!" Walter began to wave as Olivia looked at him in astonishment at his short attention span.

Cameron walked over to the table. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Walter, but I need to speak with you. It's kind of – "

Walter stood up. "Cameron King, may I introduce Agent Olivia Dunham. Olivia, this is my friend Cameron King – or so they tell him," he said gleefully.

Olivia stood up as well and turned to face the person who interrupted their conversation, intending to give him a piece of her mind. "Nice to meet you, Mr. King, but we're really – "

Cameron took her hand in his hand. "Agent Dunham, hi. I'm so sorry to interrupt. I can come back later."

Still holding his hand, Olivia said, "That's all right. What did Walter mean by, 'so they tell him'?"

"He means I'm St. Claire's resident amnesiac. All the cool snake pits have one these days," Cameron joked. Olivia smiled, and Cameron suddenly dropped her hand.

_Green eyes… lifeless… staring… bullet in the head… _

"I gotta go," he suddenly said, turning to leave abruptly, but stumbling.

"Cameron, what's wrong?" Walter said, grasping the younger man by the arms. "Are you ill?"

"Let me go," Cameron said, struggling weakly and pulling away from Walter.

Walter looked into Cameron's face, and saw fear and confusion… and a trickle of blood coming from his nose. "Oh, my. What happened? We should get you to the infirmary."

"No!" Cameron shouted. The orderlies approached from all directions. Cameron held up his hand. "I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm going now." He briefly glanced at Olivia. … "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Cameron turned and ran from the room as the orderlies followed him. Walter was about to join them, when Olivia put a restraining hand on his arm. "No, Walter."

"But he's ill, Olivia!" Walter protested. "Or hurt. Or… that poor boy. That poor, poor boy."

"Come on, Walter, let's sit down and talk some more, okay?" Olivia suggested, although her eyes strayed to where Cameron had made his hasty exit. There was something about the haunted young man. He had seemed so charming. So familiar.

"I think I'd like to go back to my room now," Walter mumbled. "Come back tomorrow, will you? I just want to lie down now." He waved a remaining orderly over, signaling an end to their visit.

As Olivia watched Walter shuffle away, she was surprised to find her mind more focused on his disturbed young friend, Cameron. At first, she had been annoyed by his interruption, but now she wanted to find out more about him. She had a feeling it might be important - to Walter, and perhaps, even, to her.


	7. Chapter 7

"Agent Dunham, what brings you back here today?" Dr. Sumner greeted Olivia as she entered his office.

"Well, my conversation with Walter was cut a bit short yesterday, and I wanted to make sure he was all right," Olivia replied, seating herself in the chair opposite Sumner's desk.

"Oh, yes, he's fine. Just a bit concerned for his friend."

"Hm. About that." Olivia leaned forward slightly in her seat. "I'm a bit concerned myself about this man… Cameron, was it? Walter seems to have gotten attached to him rather quickly."

"Yes, Cameron King," Sumner agreed.

"What can you tell me about him? I looked his name up on a number of databases, and came up with nothing. I understand he has amnesia, but did he have any form of ID on him, or is that a name he was given? It would seem a bit unusual. Most patients are John Doe's without ID."

"True. The nurse on duty at the hospital in Schenectady had been watching The Terminator on the lounge TV when he was brought in. She took a shine to him, and felt badly about putting him in the system as a John Doe. So she called him Cameron. Not sure where the King part came from." Sumner shrugged. "I applaud her, actually. At least it gives him some sense of individual identity, instead of being one of many John Doe's in the world."

Olivia sat up straighter. "Did you say Schenectady?"

"Yes. Cameron was found near Reiden Lake. Schenectady was the nearest city with a trauma center."

"When was he found? Was it the night the Lake emptied?" Olivia asked impatiently. There had been no mention in the official Fringe Event reports of anyone being found or seen in the vicinity of Reiden Lake on the night of the event; a portion of the main report had been redacted by the government at the request of some unknown higher-up, frustrating Broyles and Olivia no end.

Sumner picked up a file and thumbed through it. "Let me see… it was about three months ago. I remember there was a terrible electrical storm that night. It's been concluded that Cameron was most likely struck by lightning. He had second-degree burns on twenty percent of his body, head trauma, and was suffering from exposure and hypothermia. Completely catatonic when he was found wandering near the lake. There was dirt and blood on his hands, so local police surmised he may have fallen into the lakebed, and clawed his way out."

Olivia stood abruptly. "I need to speak to this man immediately," she barked.

"Cameron? Why? I thought you were here to see Walter," Sumner asked, surprised.

"Cameron King may be involved in an ongoing investigation of a recent Fringe event. I need to question him."

"Agent Dunham, Cameron may seem positively well-adjusted compared to some of the other patients here, but make no mistake - he is here for a reason. He has absolutely no memory of his life until he woke up in the hospital in Schenectady. He also can be a bit volatile." Sumner sighed. "The reason he was brought to us here at St. Claire's is… he became violent with the staff." He looked at another sheet in the file. "One of his doctors went into his room, and found it empty but for a note that said, 'I am going home.' When security tracked him down near the lobby, he turned violent, attacked the guards and started yelling, 'I know what you are.'" Sumner shook his head sadly. "They finally subdued him, and called me here to see if we could help him."

"Thank you for that information, Doctor, but I'm a trained FBI Agent. I think I can handled a frightened amnesiac. I'd like to see him, please, and if possible, in private."

"Most of the patients should be in the activity room right now. Please feel free to go there for a few moments, and I'll arrange to have a treatment room cleared for you."

"Thank you, Doctor. I'll visit with Walter for a bit, while I wait."

Cameron took a deep breath before opening the door to the activity room. After his little meltdown the previous day, he felt ashamed of himself. _I'm not crazy_, he told himself. _But I sure acted like it_.

He still couldn't explain what happened – he'd tried after the orderlies frog-marched him into Sumner's office, but for the life of him, he couldn't tell why his encounter with Agent Olivia Dunham had affected him so.

Well, maybe he could, considering he saw a woman who looked very much like Agent Dunham almost every night in his nightmares. He didn't have the dream last night, most likely because he'd been drugged to the gills following the "incident," as Sumner called it. Cameron hated drugs; beer was his drug of choice.

But every night, he had the dream. Some of the details changed, but the woman was a constant. She was blond, and beautiful in a no-nonsense, natural way. She had sad green – no, _olive_ – eyes, and seemed haunted. He hoped he hadn't been the one who put that look there.

When he walked into the activity room to speak to Walter, Cameron wasn't prepared to be looking straight into those haunted olive eyes for real. _Olivia_, he thought. How appropriate. And when he took her hand, every dream he'd ever had, every time he'd seen her face in one, came flooding back at once; he felt all the guilt, and all the fear…

And all the love. He didn't know how, and he didn't know why, but Cameron King had discovered one thing about himself that he didn't know before – he loved Olivia Dunham. And it freaked him out just a bit.

Steeling himself and taking another breath, Cameron opened the door and stepped into the activity room to find Walter. Instead, he found himself confronted by another patient, Zsigmond Kohuth, an elderly Hungarian man who thought he was being haunted by the Russian Royal Family. "Cameron King!" he declared in his heavy accent. "I go to the palace now."

"Excellent," Cameron said pleasantly. "Don't forget to wash your hands, Ziggy." With a wide grin, the older man marched away regally, and Cameron resumed his search for Walter.

He found him sitting alone in front of a chess set, simply staring at the pieces. "Trying to move them with your mind, Walter?" he joked.

Walter looked up, and his face lit up. "Cameron! I'm so pleased to see you! Are you all right? I was terribly worried about you. Please, sit. Sit!"

"I'm fine, Walter, thanks. And I'm sorry about interrupting your visit with Olivia." Cameron sat opposite Walter and considered the chess set.

"Aha, the beguiling Olivia Dunham beguiles!" Walter exclaimed. "I was hoping you two would meet."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure that will be our first and last meeting," Cameron said glumly, "Considering I acted like a complete loon."

"Nonsense, Olivia will understand. I think she liked you. I could tell by the way she didn't let go of your hand when you met." Walter beamed like a successful matchmaker.

"You are such a romantic, Walter," Cameron chuckled. "C'mon, let's play. I'm white."

"You certainly are. You need to get some sun," Walter commented.

"No, Walter." Cameron tapped the white king on the chessboard. "I'm _white_. Okay?"

Walter laughed. "Oh! Yes, yes of course." Walter examined the board for a moment, then made his move. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"Shh," Cameron scolded. His brow furrowing, he looked at Walter's move, and countered.

"Oh-_ho_," Walter said softly. "Very clever. Where'd you learn to play like that?" At Cameron's raised eyebrow, he winced. "Ah. Right. Sorry."

"No problem. You gonna chat, or are you gonna move?" He smiled at the older man.

"Oh, I'm going to move, all right," Walter said proudly.

Ten minutes later, Walter and Cameron were so engrossed in their game they didn't see Olivia approach. "Excuse me," she said. "Hi, Walter."

"Hello, Olivia dear, just a moment," Walter mumbled without looking up as he moved a piece into place.

"Get _out_," Cameron said, whistling through his teeth. "The Benko gambit, Walter? Really? Very elegant." He grinned slyly. "But… " He moved one of his own pieces. "Checkmate."

"Blast!" Walter groused as he tipped his king over on the board in defeat. "Oh, you're a genius." He grinned and patted Cameron on the arm. "Well done, son." Suddenly remembering his visitor, he jumped up, nearly knocking the chess pieces over. "Olivia! Hello! When did you get here?"

Cameron rolled his eyes as he stood to greet Olivia. "I think it was about _five minutes ago_, Walter. Sorry, Agent Dunham. Hi."

"Hi," Olivia replied, almost shyly. "Walter, I hope you don't mind, but I actually need to speak to Cameron for a little while."

"Me? What for?" Cameron stepped back from Olivia suspiciously.

"Yes, why do you need to speak with Cameron?" Walter echoed.

"Well, I found out that you were present at the scene of a Fringe event, and I'd like to ask you a few questions," Olivia said briskly.

"A Fringe event? What's that?"

Walter jumped in. "There have been some unusual occurrences recently – freak electrical storms, odd events that defy conventional scientific explanation. Agent Dunham is part of an investigative team."

"You're talking about Reiden Lake? I have no idea what happened there. I don't remember even being there," Cameron protested. "I doubt I caused the lake to drain. Trust me, there's nothing special about me."

"Probably not, but you _were_ there. I'm hoping you might be able to remember something if we just sit and talk for awhile." Olivia noticed Cameron's attention wandering to a point near the door. "I'm sorry, am I boring you?" she asked testily.

"Hang on," Cameron said dismissively. "Walter… where's Ziggy?"

"Well, I believe he announced rather loudly that he needed to use the facilities," Walter replied.

"That was a long time ago," Cameron said, walking away. "I'll be right back."

Walter, and Olivia, followed Cameron as he left the activity room and walked down the hall and into the Men's room. Seeing a closed stall, Cameron knocked on it. "Ziggy? Hey, Zig, it's Cameron. You fall in or something? Ziggy?" He looked over his shoulder at Walter and Olivia, only slightly surprised at the woman's presence in the room. "Step back," he said. As they did, he kicked the door of the stall in.

Zsigmond Kohuth sat, fully clothed, on the toilet seat, dead. "Aw, Ziggy," Cameron groaned. "Walter, get an orderly." Walter ran out, leaving Cameron and Olivia with the body. Cameron checked for a pulse. "He's dead," he said sadly. He leaned down close and lifted his eyelids. "No petechial hemorrhaging. Doubt it was a heart attack or a stroke." He sniffed near the man's mouth, and looked up at Olivia. "He's been poisoned."

"You're a forensic pathologist?" Olivia asked sarcastically.

"No, but I know cyanide when I smell it. Doesn't take a genius to figure it out, sweetheart," he snapped back. Cradling the dead man in his arms, he patted Ziggy's hair. "Ziggy, what happened?" he whispered.

"Ziggy?"

"Zsigmond Kohuth," Cameron elaborated.

"_Professor_ Zsigmond Kohuth?" Olivia asked, astonished.

"Guess so. Doubt there are too many Zsigmond Kohuths around. You know him?"

"He's one of the foremost experts on electro-magnetic fields. He was head of R&D at Massive Dynamic until his breakdown."

"Oh," was all Cameron could say.

Olivia looked down at the grim-faced young man holding his dead friend. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," he replied as Walter led the orderlies in.

Ziggy's body was taken away, leaving Walter, Olivia and Cameron standing dumbstruck in the hallway. "Poor soul," Walter said. "Where could he have gotten the cyanide?"

"Doubt we'll ever know. They don't tell us nuts anything," Cameron said angrily. Sighing, he turned to Olivia, "So, you want to talk about Reiden Lake?" Olivia nodded, surprised at the change of subject. "What the hell, let's talk. Beats standing around mourning the dead."


	8. Chapter 8

First... the biggest THANK YOU in the world to everyone who's reading this, and to everyone posting reviews. I am absolutely over the moon! Or in an alternate universe... Still sendin' the love to my Super-Beta, **DixieGirl256**!

Now, on with the show...

xoxoxoxoxo

Olivia entered the treatment room that Dr. Sumner had arranged for her, followed – reluctantly – by Cameron. She eyed the much more comfortable chair behind the desk, but decided to sit in one of the two chairs on the other side.

As she started to sit, she was surprised to find Cameron behind her, holding the chair. "Uh… thanks," she said, surprised.

"I'm crazy, not uncouth," Cameron smiled, turning the opposite chair to face her and taking a seat.

"I don't think you're crazy," Olivia said pleasantly. "Dr. Sumner explained the circumstances around your arrival here."

"Oh, did he now? How nice of him to keep you in the loop," Cameron replied dryly.

"Nothing confidential was divulged, I assure you. As I said, you're quite possibly the only person who can tell me what happened at Reiden Lake the night of a major – "

"Fringe event, yeah, you told me." Cameron sighed. "I don't know what I can tell you, O – Agent Dunham," he said, catching himself. _Knock it off,_ a voice in his head said. Strangely, this time it was a woman's voice. _Just because you think you're in love with a total stranger, there's no need to be rude_. _Na einai kalitero anthropo apo ton Patera tou…_

Olivia smiled. "You can call me Olivia, if it makes you feel more comfortable," she offered.

"_Agent Dunham_," he said pointedly, "If Dr. Sumner told you how I ended up here, he's probably also told you that I was catatonic when they found me."

"Yes, I understand, but I was hoping that maybe if we just chatted for awhile, it might jog your memory," Olivia answered.

Cameron laughed. "Really? All the drugs and 'sessions' – Cameron raised his hands in air-quotes – I've had haven't knocked anything loose, and you think a cup of tea and a chat with _you_ will bring everything roaring back to me? Sweetheart, you have a well-developed sense of self-worth, but… _I don't think so_."

Olivia's face flushed with anger. What a massive pain in the ass. "Look, you are the first solid lead I have regarding one of the most important Fringe events of the last three months. There's a hell of a lot of people counting on me to find out what happened, and keep it from happening again. So if I have to sit here with you and chant for the next three hours, that's what I'm gonna do. And call me Sweetheart one more time, I'd _really_ like that."

… _One phone call. That's all it takes. You want me to make it? Cause I've got my phone in my pocket. Now it's out of my pocket... _

Cameron squeezed the bridge of his nose with his left hand. "Um… do you carry your cell phone in your right pocket?"

"What?" Olivia said, nonplussed. However, she reached into her pocket and pulled it out. "Yes, I do. Why?"

"Nothing. Sorry. Crazy," he replied. "Okay, look, I apologize. It's just… it's frustrating for me, you know?"

Seeing the distress in Cameron's face, Olivia's own softened. "Of course. And I'm sorry if I seem to be pressing the issue. It's frustrating for me, too. My division has been fighting an uphill battle for the last three months, and it just seems too serendipitous to have you suddenly thrown into my path. There _must_ be a connection between your accident and this Fringe event."

"What makes you think it was an accident? Do you think Ziggy's death was an accident?" Cameron snapped.

"What makes you think either of these _wasn't_ an accident?" Olivia argued.

"He hated almonds."

"Excuse me?"

Cameron leaned forward toward her. "Ziggy. He hated almonds. He would never voluntarily ingest anything that tasted or smelled like almonds. He didn't kill himself, Olivia. You have to believe me, he did not kill himself. You told me he worked for Massive Dynamic before his breakdown. R&D on electro-magnetics. These Fringe events have been electrical in nature, right?" Olivia nodded. "There's your connection. See? Maybe somebody at Massive Dynamic is responsible for all this stuff that's happening, Ziggy knew too much, and they killed him." When she didn't respond, he sat back, deflated. "Yeah, I know. I left my tinfoil hat in my room."

"No. You might have something there. It's worth looking into," Olivia agreed.

Cameron was stunned. "Really? You think so?"

"I think so," Olivia smiled.

"Fantastic. Where do we start?"

"Well, maybe we could start with you," she said, not-so-gently steering the conversation back to its original topic.

"Oh. Yeah. Right." Cameron slumped back. "Okay." He looked at Olivia for a moment; if digging around even more in his empty brain allowed him time to spend with her, so be it. Hell, he'd probably resort to making stuff up if he had to. He scraped a hand through his hair. "All I remember is fire. Just incredible heat. And I felt like I was being ripped apart, split in two."

Olivia watched as his eyes took on a faraway look, then leaned over and placed a hand on his knee. "You're doing great, Cameron," she encouraged him.

"There were voices, so many voices. Male, female, all talking over each other. I thought at first I was remembering the paramedics, but I'm not sure."

"Think really hard. Can you remember what they were saying?"

"I can't. No. I can't."

"Come on, Cameron. Please, try?" Olivia prodded.

"No, that's what the voices are saying. 'I can't.'" Cameron shook his head, lowering it to his chest and clenching his fists.

"Okay, it's okay, Cameron."

"It's not okay!" he shouted, suddenly getting to his feet. "All I get is bits and pieces, and snippets of words, and people crying, and blood, and fire, and you, and… "

Olivia stood. "Wait a second. Me? You see me?" She grasped his arm, but he hissed and pulled it away as if in pain. More gently, she took his hand, and pushed his shirt sleeve up to reveal a dark bruise. "Cameron, did someone hurt you?"

He shrank away from her. "I don't know. It probably happened when the guys 'escorted' me to see Sumner yesterday. It's fine," he protested, running a hand nervously through his hair again, and turning away.

"Cameron, look at me," Olivia commanded. He turned to face her. "Oh," she breathed, reaching toward his face.

Cameron swiped at his upper lip, and grimaced when his hand came away bloody. "Shit, not again," he mumbled, and swayed on his feet.

Olivia put her arms around him and guided him back to his seat. "Sit. Take it easy, just breathe. Does this happen often? Have you had your blood pressure checked?"

He nodded. "Borderline arterial hypertension and narrow tachycardia, they say. Whatever. It comes and goes."

"I should get a doctor," Olivia said, turning to leave.

"No!" Cameron said, grasping her wrist. "Please. Don't. Just… stay with me for a minute?" He hated how his voice sounded – small, vulnerable, and way too needy.

"Of course." She moved her chair closer to Cameron's and sat. "I'm sorry, Cameron. I've been pushing you too hard."

"Apology accepted," he said with a weak smile. "Hey, don't you get tired of dealing with inmates like Walter and me?"

Olivia shrugged. "I'm getting used to it. And you two aren't so bad. You should see some of the other people I have to deal with." She patted his arm. "You should rest. I was supposed to head back to New York tonight, but I think I have a case to investigate here." She stood again. "And I'm going to need your help. See you tomorrow, _partner_?"


	9. Chapter 9

Walter sighed as he drew imaginary swirls in his pudding with the plastic spoon. "Horrible. Simply horrible. Poor Zsigmond."

"I'm sorry about your friend, Walter," Olivia replied as she took off her coat and sat down.

"Yeah, Ziggy was a good guy," Cameron agreed. "But Walter, listen up. Olivia and I think he may have been murdered."

Walter's eyes lifted from his art project to look at Cameron warily. "Murdered?"

"_May have been_," Olivia stressed. "That's why I came back today. I'm going to look into Dr. Kohuth's death, and I need your help – both of you."

"Why would you think that? He killed himself. He probably just couldn't stand the thought that he would never be free again. All that intellect, all the good he could have done, destroyed by madness." Walter shook his head, and resumed his swirling.

"Hey." Cameron put a gentle hand on Walter's arm to draw his attention. "I think this is what the shrinks call projection, Walter. You're _not_ Ziggy. He was delusional. He thought the Russian Royal Family was speaking to him from the grave."

"I hear voices, too," Walter admitted, surprising Olivia with his candor in front of this friend he'd only made recently. Olivia had watched Walter's paranoia grow in the weeks since the Bridge appeared, finally resulting in a complete refusal to leave his home. Although touched by Cameron's obvious fondness for Walter, she was nevertheless amazed at Walter's complete openness with the young man.

"You do? Seriously?" Cameron sat back in his chair. "So, how is Czar Nicolas these days?"

That earned a small smile from Walter. "Don't be silly," he said softly. "But at home… sometimes at the lab… he's there."

"He? He who?"

"I don't know. But I hear him very clearly. When I'm particularly upset, or lonely, or I can't figure out a problem, I hear him. He helps me."

"Have you heard the voice here?" Cameron prodded gently.

Walter thought for a moment. "No. Do you know, I haven't. That's very strange. But perhaps… " Walter patted Cameron's hand, which still rested on his arm. "Perhaps I don't need to hear the voice because I have you."

"Me?" Cameron smiled, but shook his head.

"You have been very kind to me. And very good _for_ me. I enjoy our talks, so very much. You make me feel… safe," Walter said. "No offense, Olivia, dear."

Olivia smiled softly. "None taken."

"I like you, too, Walter," Cameron replied. "As you've probably noticed, I'm not exactly Mr. Personality around the rest of the gang here, but I can talk to you. It's like we're on the same wavelength or something – which may or may not be a good thing," he joked.

Walter frowned and went back to stirring his pudding. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he set the bowl aside. "The same wavelength," he whispered. Grasping Cameron's arms, he exclaimed, "My boy, you are a genius!"

"I've heard something to that effect," Cameron replied sardonically.

"Zsigmond was a researcher for Massive Dynamic, did you know that?"

"Yeah, head of R&D. Olivia told me. I think something he was doing at Massive Dynamic must've gotten him into trouble. These 'Fringe Events,' or whatever they're called, have been electro-magnetic in nature, so I'm thinking maybe they might be some kind of Massive Dynamic project gone wrong. I may not remember anything about myself, but I know that Massive Dynamic is massive Bad News. Maybe Ziggy wanted to pull the plug – so to speak – on the whole thing, and that's how he ended up here. And how he ended up dead," he added grimly.

"Yes! Yes, exactly. Do you know what Zsigmond's specialty as a physician was before he went to Massive Dynamic?" Cameron shook his head. "Psychiatry, specifically the applications and uses of Electro-Convulsive Therapies."

"Shock treatment? Whoa," Cameron breathed. "Makes sense, I guess. But how could ECT cause a major electro-magnetic event? There's just not enough power."

"Oh, but there is. Just not here." Walter's eyes darkened. "It's called The Machine."

"Catchy," Cameron interjected.

"Walter, you can't be serious," Olivia interjected.

"Oh, it's no joke, believe me. The Machine was built… well, I don't exactly know how or why it was built, but it has the ability to repair or cause rifts in the space-time continuum, depending on the choice made by the operator."

"_Ooooookay_… " Cameron said. "A person, inside this Machine, can create or destroy? At whim? Simply by choosing while operating it? Jesus."

"More like God the Father, actually, but I understand your concern," Walter said absent-mindedly. "That's the theory. Our Bridge was created by someone we're fairly certain was inside the Machine, but we have no idea who. And!" he exclaimed again, "I have hypothesized to Agent Dunham that the person who operated the Machine might very well be trapped in there. Or at least, part of him or her."

"Trapped. In the Machine. You're not sure, though? How could you not know? I mean, shouldn't you be able to see this person in there? Like, screaming for help, waving his arms, something?"

"You would think so, wouldn't you? But as I said, it's just a theory."

"Walter, did you ever think that maybe the voice _you're_ hearing is the operator? Literally, a ghost in the Machine? Maybe you're right, and someone is trapped, and they're calling for help."

Walter looked at his friend fondly. "No, son, I doubt it. I don't have the kind of psychic energy needed to perceive such a strong inter-dimensional connection. Agent Dunham, perhaps; she's heard the voice, haven't you, dear?" Olivia nodded. "But me? No, I'm afraid I'm just a crazy old man."

"Emotional quantum entanglement," Cameron murmured.

"I'm sorry, son, what did you say?" Walter said, straining to hear.

"Walter, is it possible that Ziggy may have been working on some way to modify ECT equipment to turn it into a smaller version of your Machine?" At Walter's stunned expression, Cameron plowed ahead. "I know, it's a leap. It's a _huge_ friggin' leap, but think about it. Maybe Ziggy was working on this project for Massive Dynamic, and it messed with his own head. He wound up here, and one of the bigwigs decided to use his presence here to their advantage."

"That is quite a leap," Walter agreed. "But I suppose it's not outside the realm of possibility."

"I gotta get into that ECT lab," Cameron said, standing suddenly. "Maybe somehow their little Mini-Machine has gotten onto the same wavelength as the one you guys have, and that's what's causing all this Fringe stuff."

"Oh, no you don't!" Walter grabbed his wrist and pulled him back into his seat.

"Walter's right, Cameron, don't be stupid. I'll question Dr. Sumner, and then get a warrant if anything he says sounds suspicious," Olivia concurred.

"Oh, that wouldn't be Dr. Sumner's purview, Olivia. I believe you'd have to speak to Dr. Newton. He's the Director of Medical Technologies at St. Claire's," Walter corrected her.

"And talking to Newton is like talking to a brick wall," Cameron sniped. "The guy has the bedside manner of a troll, and zero compassion. You could question him until you're blue in the face, Olivia, and you won't find out anything," Cameron argued. A mischievous smile lit his face. "Whereas, I could do a little creative wandering tonight, and see if I can get into the ECT lab and have a look around."

"Excuse me," Olivia said blandly, trying to contain her annoyance, "But aren't those doors, I dunno… _locked_?"

"They are, indeed, Agent Dunham," Cameron grinned. "But, _ve haf vays_."

"Please, Cameron, don't," Walter pleaded. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

Cameron tempered his enthusiasm, and sat back down, holding Walter's hand. "It's okay, Walter, I'm just going to see if I can get in to have a look. If it looks too dangerous, I won't do it, I promise. If I can get in, I'll report back to Agent Dunham, she can go question Newton, and get her warrant. Okay?"

"I still don't like it," Olivia said.

"How else are you gonna get any information? And who better to check out a crazy theory, than a crazy person? Come on, Olivia, I can do this. Let me help you."

Olivia considered for a moment. "If that door is locked, and you can't… _arrange entrance_ another way, I want you away from there immediately. Do you understand?"

"Loud and clear, boss," Cameron agreed, saluting.

"You really are annoying, you know that?" Olivia huffed.

"Hey, you wanted my help. This is a classic case of, be careful what you wish for… " He winked at her. "… Sweetheart."


	10. Chapter 10

_What the hell was I thinking_? Cameron asked himself as he walked down the hall toward the labs. He'd gotten out of his room just fine – he'd done it dozens of times before – but how in the world was he going to get into the ECT room?

It didn't really matter, because he just knew he had to. Cameron had come to the conclusion during his brainstorming session with Olivia and Walter that whatever lay behind the door to the ECT lab held the key to his own identity, as well as the identity of Ziggy's murderer.

A flash of lightning startled him for a moment, and he had to chuckle. "It was dark and stormy night," he said under his breath, but his joke fell flat when a wave of dizziness overcame him. Holding onto the wall for support, he leaned his head against the cool tiles. _Nerves_, he told himself. _All that big talk, and look where it gets you, genius_.

He ignored himself, and continued on, seeing the double doors to the labs just ahead at the end of the hall. Getting through those doors was the easy part; getting into the actual lab? That was going to be nigh well impossible. But he'd told Olivia he could do it, and he wanted to impress her. Which was stupid. And arrogant.

"You are taking a very great risk," the voice said behind him.

"Huh," Cameron grunted. "I wondered when you'd show up." He turned to face the bald man in the fedora. "So, tell me something I don't know."

"Why do you do this?"

"I want answers, that's why," Cameron retorted. "A friend of mine – a nice, decent, harmless man – is dead. Someone killed him, and no one around here seems to care. But I do. And Walter does, and so does Olivia."

"Dr. Kohuth," the bald man said. "Was he a good man?"

"As far as I know, he was, and that's all I care about. So, make yourself useful, why don't you? Can you unlock the lab doors?"

"It is not wise," the man said. "There may be… repercussions."

_Repercussions… imagine the repercussions…_

Cameron squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying only to concentrate on the sound of thunder rumbling outside.

_There's no way of telling what the cost might be. But it can't be worse than this. It can't be worse than this..._

"It can't be worse than this," he mumbled, reaching out toward the man. "Give me the keys."

"There are no keys," the man said. "Are you sure this is the right thing to do?"

Cameron shook himself alert. "What? Of course it is. I'm just looking for information. Simple re-con mission. I tell Olivia what I find, she gets a warrant, she talks to Sumner. Or Newton. Or _Newton_," he repeated.

Lightning flashed again outside, and suddenly Cameron's head was filled with a loud, humming sound. He leaned against the wall as the man said, "It is too late. There is no turning back. You feel it now. It has begun."

Olivia Dunham was frustrated. She'd tried five different search engines, and could come up with no information at all on anyone named Cameron King. Walter's mysterious friend had volunteered to break into St. Claire's ECT lab to gather information for her, and she had allowed it. Why would she do that? Why did she trust this haggard, arrogant, snide, handsome young man after meeting him, what? Twice? Ridiculous.

"You're getting soft," she scolded herself as her cell phone rang. Angrily, she snatched it up. "Dunham."

"Olivia, it's Astrid. Are you on your way back?"

"No," she sighed. "I'm still in Mass. There's been a death at St. Claire's, and I think it might be connected to the electro-magnetic events that have been happening. I also found someone who may have been at Reiden Lake the day of that Fringe event."

"Okay, but I think you need to come back. Now." Astrid's voice sounded almost frantic. "Olivia, it's the Machine. It's turned itself on."

Stunned, Olivia couldn't speak for a moment. "Astrid, is anyone else there?"

"Liv and Lincoln. The Secretary just left before it happened."

"All of you, get out of the Bridge Room right now. Meet me in the Liberty Island office, but stay away from the Bridge Room. Tell Liv to go back to her side, and shut the room. Lock it down. I'm on my way."

"Okay. Olivia, what's happening?"

_Walter… what's happening to him? His heart rate's going up… how long are we gonna let him stay in that thing? Olivia! You're alive!_

Olivia blinked. "I… I dunno. Sit tight. I'll be there as fast as I can."

The hum in Cameron's head grew to a roar as he staggered toward the ECT lab. It was as though the closer he got to the room, the worse the sound became. But the man following him seemed completely unfazed, as though he couldn't hear a thing.

…_forty-seven years old… shrapnel wound to the abdomen…_

Cameron clutched his side. What the hell was happening? Images and voices crowded his brain, making it almost impossible for him to move.

_Look… from Jacobson's file. Him. Remember? The bald guy…_

…_Must you always be such a smart ass? I need the aluminum foil right now to shield the frequencies of the cylinder. Your life depends on it. All our lives depend on it. Go now!_

…_on Saturdays... I could smell the pancakes... which meant that you were here… there'd you be... standing over the stove, flipping pancakes. You seemed so big back then…_

…_and I don't want to live in my apartment, and I don't want to be with you. She's taken everything..._

He finally managed to get to the door of the lab. "What's in there?" he said, barely hearing his own voice. "That's no ECT machine in there."

"It is as you have said," the man replied as the door to the lab opened, seemingly of its own accord. "Be careful what you wish for. I cannot help you now. There are many possible futures. You have chosen this one."

Cameron clung to the door to hold himself up. He rested his head against the door for a moment; when he looked back up, the man was gone. "Fantastic," he groaned, and stumbled into the room. "What the hell?" he said, coming face to face with a tall man in a lab coat, who – like the mysterious bald man – looked completely unfazed by the cacophony around him.

"This won't do," the man said in a clipped British accent. He nodded to someone behind Cameron.

Cameron didn't feel the needle slide into his neck until it was too late.


	11. Chapter 11

Walter paced the floor outside the activity room, only stopping occasionally to watch the storm outside the picture window in the hall, or to glance at the slow-moving clock. He hadn't seen or heard from Cameron since the young man had decided to go on his "mission" for Olivia; that was four hours ago. In that time, Walter had grown increasingly uneasy. He'd never seen an electrical storm like it.

Intellectually, he knew the reason; somehow the Bridge between the universes was becoming increasingly unstable. But he also couldn't help but feel that the weather outside was matching his mood. The activity room hadn't opened yet, but he was supposed to meet Cameron first thing in the morning; he had hoped the young man would be early, if not punctual, but it was almost opening time, and there was no sign of him.

He flagged down a passing orderly. "Could you tell me… have you seen Cameron King? I'm supposed to meet him here ."

"Dunno," the orderly grunted. "Wait a second, did you say King? Lanky young fella? I heard he tried to break into one of the labs a few hours ago."

"Oh, dear," Walter sighed. He'd been caught. Not only did that not bode well for Cameron, but Walter knew he would never hear the end of it from Olivia. "Is he all right?"

"Beats the hell outta me. Rules are rules, so I figure he's probably strapped _down _in isolation, or drugged _up _in the infirmary," the orderly said, turning to walk away.

"No, they mustn't do that! Perhaps he was sleepwalking, or one of his medications caused a reaction. He needs help, not solitary confinement or to be medicated into a stupor," Walter protested.

The orderly stopped and turned to look at the older man. "That's kinda funny, coming from a guy like you," he said dryly.

"_My_ medications are different," Walter said. "Mine are recreational. Constructive. I know how to control the dosage to _enhance_ my mental processes, not hinder them. What you do to the patients is… it's mental slavery. You lock people in their own minds in order to maintain order."

"Right. Whatever you say," the orderly, whose name tag read, "Sylvester," dismissed him. He looked over Walter's shoulder suddenly. "Hey, buddy, this is a restricted area. Patients only, and visiting hours aren't til 11."

"You may leave us, Sylvester. I must speak with Walter Bishop alone," the flat voice behind Walter intoned. He turned his head to see the man he'd seen before meeting Cameron, the man in the suit and fedora. He noticed now that he was the palest person Walter had ever seen, and seemed to have no eyebrows.

Sylvester stood as though hypnotized. "Okay," he mumbled. "Okay," he repeated, then walked away.

The Observer known as September placed a hand on Walter's shoulder. "Walter, it is time. You must help Cameron now."

Walter stared after Sylvester's retreating form, waved his hands in front of him, and giggled. "'These aren't the droids you're looking for,'" he joked.

"Walter," September repeated.

"Oh. Oh, yes, Cameron. You know Cameron? He's a lovely boy, isn't he? He helps me."

"The Boy needs _your_ help now, Walter. I cannot. Come with me."

Silently, he led Walter through corridors, past desk nurses who never even turned their heads. At Walter's quizzical expression, he said, "Yes, they see us, but that is not important."

"All right," Walter said. He wasn't going to argue with this bizarre figure. Despite his serene, almost neutral, demeanor, Walter had the feeling that this man was someone not to be trifled with.

They reached a door that read ISOLATION. "Is Cameron in here?" The Observer nodded. "The door is locked. I can't possibly… "

The Observer reached down and touched the security keypad, then turned the handle. The door opened easily. "Go, Walter. You must help the Boy. Only you can."

Walter stepped into the darkened room, as the Observer stayed behind. As he watched the door close behind Walter, the Observer felt a presence behind him. "Everything is in place. It is time."

"This has been an unusual incident," the Observer known as December said to him. "We underestimated the Boy."

"We underestimated them all," September countered. "We made a mistake. We should have realized the power of their feelings. We have seen it before. The Boy's sacrifice was… unnecessary."

"No, it _was_ necessary. If all had gone to plan, I believe the balance would have been restored. However, the Secretary's anger, and his manipulation of the Machine on his side, created an extra imbalance that we did not foresee," December said.

"You believe," September replied. "But you do not know. We have interfered in The Boy's life too much. He is not our plaything. He is... a human being."

"And as such, makes mistakes. Like his fathers did," December argued. "You have become too involved. You are developing… attachments. The Boy should have become one of us."

"He is not for this life. For our life. There is too much emotion in him. There is too much love in him. It is a psychic energy we must begin to take into account. It cannot be erased. _He_ could not be erased. He is necessary. Because he is loved."

"Love is irrelevant," December said flatly. "It causes the mistakes we have seen."

"It also corrects those mistakes. The Boy's love for his family – for _both_ sides, despite his father's actions – drove him to make this sacrifice. We must count on that love once more to fix this new rift. The third universe must not cross into this one. And he is trapped between. Part of his being is still in the Machine. Walter must remember him, bring him completely back into this universe. He is being torn apart. And so, the universes are being torn apart again."

"There is another way," December intoned.

"What else can we do?" September asked.

"_You_ will do nothing." December walked away, leaving September staring at the Isolation Room door alone, pondering one though alonet:

To right the universes, The Boy may have to be sacrificed. Again.

December stood calmly before Dr. Newton's desk as the man scowled at him. "Your presence here is a risk," the white-coated man said in a silky British accent. "What do you want?"

"Walter Bishop has become close to the Boy. He is with him now. The Boy is starting to remember." December didn't like dealing with those of Thomas Jerome Newton's kind. However, in this case, there was only one thing that could be done.

"Yes, I know. I have him under control."

"You do not. If the boy remembers, if his father helps him remember, there will be balance, but not in the way your employer would like."

"Well," Newton said calmly, "It's easily done if it comes to that. Suicides aren't uncommon in this kind of establishment, as Dr. Kohuth proved."

"We shall see," December replied, and walked out of the room.

"Bloody freaks," Newton grumbled just as his cell phone rang. "Yes, sir."

"Have you looked outside today, Newton? You've lost control of the situation," the Secretary's voice intoned.

"Not at all, sir. Everything's completely – "

"Where's the boy?"

"He's in isolation, sir."

"I told you to keep them apart. That man should never have had contact with the boy," the Secretary bellowed.

"That was Sumner, sir."

"I don't care who it was. You're my man in there. Walter Bishop should never have been placed in St. Claire's, and he never should have seen the boy. This is an absolute disaster. Shut the project down, and fix this."

"All due respect, sir, I think he heard him before he ever saw him," Newton commented. "That's why he wound up back – " Newton heard the phone disconnect. "Wonderful." Fix this, the man said. "As I said, easily done," Newton smirked as he rose to pay his patient a visit in Isolation.


	12. Chapter 12

**I think I may have forgotten to post this important chapter when I wrote it! Wow, BAAAAAAD ROBOT... As always, they're not mine, they're JJ's, and Warner Bros., and Fox's. I just wish they were mine. And again, to the beta of all beta's, DixieGirl... Slainte!**

_..._

Walter squinted in the dimly lit room. "Hello? Cameron, where are you? It's Walter Bishop. I can barely see in here." He groped along the wall, until he found the light switch. When he turned the lights on, his heart sank at the sight before him.

Cameron lay on a bare gurney, his wrists and ankles shackled to the sides. His eyes were open, but glassy and staring blankly into nothingness. His skin was even paler than before, and covered with a thin sheen of sweat; a fine trickle of saliva had escaped his lips. "Oh, no," Walter sighed as he stood next to the gurney. He placed a gentle hand on Cameron's cheek, wiping the sweat away with his thumb. "Cameron? It's Walter. Walter Bishop." He leaned closer and took the young man's face in his hands. "Come on, now, son, focus."

He watched as Cameron's eyes rolled a bit, but finally came to rest on Walter's face. "Wallllllrrr… ' he mumbled, blinking and struggling to focus.

"Yes!" Walter said brightly. "Hello there! It's all right now, son. I've got you." Walter set about freeing Cameron from his restraints, frowning at the red welts he saw on his wrists. "Good for you, boy, you keep on fighting them," he said approvingly as he wrapped his arms around Cameron to sit him up. The young man's head fell back like a rag doll's. "Whoops! No, no, sorry about that," Walter declared, moving his hand behind Cameron's neck to support him like a baby. "Come on, now, speak to me, Cameron. Keep talking. What did they give you? Do you know?"

"Walllllrrr… " Cameron repeated. The young man then placed his hands shakily on Walter's chest, and looked directly into his eyes. "Help me," he said. "Please… all this stuff… in my head… it hurts… I see… "

"Perhaps you're starting to remember. Let's see if I can help you with that." He saw Cameron's eyes starting to close. "No!" he shouted, patting his cheek "Stay with me, son."

_Dad_… Walter heard his own voice in his head. _You just called me Dad_…

_Yeah, I guess I did_… a voice replied. Cameron's voice. "What?" Walter whispered, slapping Cameron's face harder when he got no response. "Cameron! Answer me. What's your father's name?"

"Dunno."

"Where do you come from?"

"I… don't… KNOW!" Cameron shrieked, tearing away from Walter and lurching off the gurney, only to stagger two steps and fall to the floor, clutching his head. Scuttling back to huddle in the corner of the room, he pounded his fists against his head and muttered, "Whaddya want from me? Leave me alone, haven't I done enough? Leave me alone."

Walter rushed over to him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said agitatedly. "It's just… no, never mind. It's all right, I'm sorry, Cameron. It's all right." He reached out and took one of Cameron's hands, trying to unclench his fist. "Come on, now, it's okay. Just breathe. I won't hurt you. I promise. I want to help you. Would you like me to help you remember?"

Cameron's breathing settled, and he focused on Walter's face again. Nodding hesitantly, he said, "Bits and pieces. Just bits and pieces. Like… two places at once. Trapped. 'Neither here nor there.'"

"Did you say trapped?" Walter's mind was racing. "Cameron, you said you were found near Reiden Lake. Is that right?"

"_In _Reiden Lake. Was on fire. It burned. I burned. Then it wasn't."

It couldn't be. Cameron said he was trapped; he was found near Reiden Lake. Could he be the person whose voice Olivia heard begging to be found? It was impossible; whoever was trapped had to be operating the Machine, and this poor young man was a total stranger. Walter had never seen him before in his life – he would remember someone else on his own team, wouldn't he?

Shaking off the insane notion, Walter plowed ahead with Cameron. "Yes, the lake suddenly emptied. That's right. What else did you see? Close your eyes, and breathe. In and out. In and out." He watched Cameron's eyes slip shut and his breathing deepen. "Very good. That's excellent, son. Now think back. The lake was burning. What else did you see?"

"She's okay now. They're okay now," Cameron whispered. "But I didn't get to say goodbye. I'm just… gone."

"Say goodbye to whom?" Walter watched, stunned, as Cameron raised his arms above his head as though he were suspended by them. "Cameron?" Suddenly, Cameron's head tipped back, his arms dropped, and his back arched. "Cameron!" Walter shouted as the young man began to seize. The lights in the room began to flicker on and off as Cameron's body shuddered in Walter's arms.

As Walter tried to keep Cameron from harming himself, the door flew open. "Oh, thank God, Doctor Newton! He's having a seizure!" Walter said to the man who had entered.

"So I see, Walter," Thomas Jerome Newton said in his clipped British accent. "You shouldn't be in here, you know. You've been very naughty." He stepped closer, with no intention of helping Walter or his desperately ill friend. "Now, whatever are we to do with you?" A large man in an orderly uniform appeared behind him while he grabbed Walter and hauled him to his feet.

"What… I don't understand. I didn't do anything wrong. I just want to help Cameron. Please, he's terribly ill, we have to help him." Walter looked down at Cameron, who had stopped seizing, but was now slumped bonelessly against the wall.

"Don't worry about him. You need to worry about yourself right now." He motioned to the orderlies. "Take him to his room. And make sure he stays there. Quietly." Newton shoved Walter roughly toward the orderly; Walter tripped and nearly fell, crying out as the burly man grabbed for him.

"Let him go!" Cameron suddenly roared, hurtling himself at Walter's captor. Walter fell to the floor as Cameron, like a whirlwind, attacked. Walter had never seen anyone fight like that; Cameron's reflexes were cat-like and precise, and he had the man on the floor in short order.

Walter gazed proudly at his hero, but his smile faded when he saw the orderly's face; a silvery stream ran from his nose and mouth. "Oh, dear God… " Walter breathed.

The orderly started to revive, when Cameron grabbed him by the head and snapped his neck in one quick motion. The orderly fell back to the floor, dead. Cameron faced Walter, who recoiled in fear.

"This is your champion, Walter. A cold-blooded murderer," Newton smirked. "Yes, you should be afraid. Look at him."

Walter looked at the wild-eyed young man, and stepped away from him. "What… what are you? _Who_ are you? What are _they_?"

"Shapeshifters, Walter. You _know_ what they are," Cameron pleaded. "Please, Walter, we gotta get outta here. They're not human. _He's_ not human!" Cameron pointed at Newton.

Walter continued to shrink from Cameron. "Shapeshifters? I don't understand. How do you know about them? Doctor Newton is a good man. How can you say that about him?"

"I… I'm not sure… I just know. Now come on, Walter. Trust me." Cameron held his hand out to Walter. "Walter, _please_," he pleaded.

Walter looked from Cameron to Newton, as three more orderlies filed into the room. Fearfully, he stepped closer to Newton, and said, "I can't help you. I'm sorry, I can't help you."

"Walter?" Cameron whispered, heartbroken.

Newton nodded to the orderlies, who descended on Cameron and restrained him. "He's become violent," he said as Cameron struggled vainly in their grasp. Grabbing Cameron's face painfully, Newton smiled at him. "We need to calm you down, Cameron. I hesitate to use ECT unless it's a truly extenuating circumstance. I'm afraid this is one of them."

Cameron spat in his face. Newton moved his hand to Cameron's hair, yanking his head back angrily. "You wanted to see what's in the lab," he said silkily, "Well, now you're going to find out, _Cameron_." He released his grasp. "Take him to the ECT room."

Cameron looked again with terrified eyes to Walter as the orderlies started to drag him from the room. He lunged forward and grabbed Walter by the lapels of his sweater, but a hard kidney punch from one of Newton's men instantly loosened his grip. "Walter, please! Don't let them do this! Walter!"

As Cameron's cries faded down the hall, Newton patted Walter on the arm. "You're doing the right thing, Walter. Now let's get you back to your room."

"Please," Walter said, "Do you think I could go with him? I don't want him to be alone. He's frightened."

Newton considered for a moment. It might be fun to let the old man watch. "That's very kind of you Walter. This is a very positive step in your recovery. All right, but you must stay in the outer room and observe only. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes," Walter answered obediently. "He… it won't hurt him, will it?"

"No, of course not," Newton soothed. "I promise you, Walter. He won't feel a thing."


	13. Chapter 13

One of the orderlies ushered Walter into a small viewing room. "You can watch through here. Just no banging on the glass, okay?"

"Yes, I understand. You will be able to help him, won't you?" Walter asked.

"Yeah, sure," the orderly replied.

"What is that humming sound? Is that the equipment?"

"Yeah, that's the machine," the orderly said, and left Walter alone.

He nervously reached into his sweater pocket to retrieve his coin, desperate for something to relieve his stress. It was gone. "Where…" He stuck his other hand in the opposite pocket. "No. No, this is not good," he said in a tremulous voice. He knew he had it in that sweater the day before. It was his lucky coin, and had been since Cameron had retrieved it for him from Dr. Sumner.

The door to the treatment room opened; Walter watched as three orderlies appeared, dragging Cameron into the room. "Please," Cameron kept pleading, his eyes wild. Walter noticed blood flowing from Cameron's nose as he struggled.

The orderlies forced Cameron onto the table and strapped him down as Dr. Newton entered. "Thank you, gentlemen. Please leave us now." The orderlies left without a word. "Well, here we are, _Cameron_." He patted Cameron's cheek as the young man tried to pull away from his touch.

"I don't know who you think I am, Newton, but you got the wrong guy," Cameron said, trying to keep his voice calm even as the sound of the machinery pounded in his head, and the voices grew louder.

"Oh, you're exactly the right guy," Newton said, to Walter's utter confusion. "But that won't matter much longer." He took some electrodes from a cart and began placing them on Cameron's head as he continued to struggle. "Since you were so interested in learning about this equipment, you should be delighted to have such first-hand experience."

"This isn't an ECT machine, is it?" Peter ground out through his teeth. The thing hadn't even been applied to him yet, and already he was in agony.

"Of course it is, but not from this world," Newton said coolly as he placed an electrode on Cameron's chest. "This is very advanced tech, capable of some rather amazing things. You were supposed to operate it, later. But I'm afraid you've rushed the timetable."

"So, what _does_ it do, Newton? Because whatever it is, it won't be enough to save you from me when I get outta here."

"Really?" Newton chuckled as he placed the last electrode on Cameron's body.

"Really. You may think you know what this thing is capable of, but you have no idea what _I'm_ capable of."

"Brave talk from a man in restraints," Newton said jovially as he checked the dials on the equipment next to the table. "Hm. Interesting. It seems to have switched itself on. Clever boy." He turned one of the dials up one setting.

Walter cringed as Cameron let out a groan. He put his hand on the glass separating him from the proceedings in the room, as Cameron turned his head to face him. A tear ran down Walter's face. "I'm so sorry," he said, although he knew the young man couldn't hear him.

This was his fault; he knew perfectly well Cameron wouldn't hurt him. The boy had saved him from those… whatever they were. And now he was tied down like an animal because Walter wouldn't help him. "Coward," Walter scolded himself aloud.

He was stunned when the young man shook his head and smiled just as Newton flipped another switch on the equipment. Walter didn't know which was more painful: watching this young man suffer, or the sudden low-pitched buzzing in his ears.

_Walter… Walter, are you okay?_

_I'd like to go now…_

_Of course, we'll go right now…_

_Son, is that what it's like to talk to me?_

_Walter, let's go home…_

"Oh, dear God…" Walter whispered, holding his hands to his ears.

Cameron felt himself slipping away as Newton turned the dial higher, but he didn't fight it. Somehow, he knew that this was the way things were supposed to be; images and words bombarded him as the electrical shocks assaulted his nervous system, but he welcomed them. Although his consciousness seemed to be fading, he felt something else taking its place – awareness…

"_I can't change what happens because it's already happened. But you can make a different choice within what happened. I simply need to find a way to bring your consciousness forward to now so that you can witness what will happen if you make the same choice. Peter, for all I know, it could be happening already. Don't you see? We can fix everything. We can cheat the rules of time."_

"_Imagine the repercussions." _

"_There's no way of telling what the cost might be. But it can't be worse than this. It can't be worse than this." _

_Peter looked at his broken shell of a father, knowing he himself felt just as broken. "What would I need to do?"_

_Walter told him everything that needed to be done, and Peter agreed, with just one question. "I know you said our failsafe would be… Olivia," he said, his voice breaking as he struggled to say his wife's name. "But what if what I do isn't enough, and she can't help? We need another backup."_

"_Another source of electro-magnetic energy might do the trick. You'll need to stay close to a source. Should anything go wrong, you'll need to access that backup energy to restore the timeline yourself. Especially if Walternate has something up his sleeve."_

"_Yeah," Peter sighed. "If you've thought of it, he's probably thought of it, too."_

_Walter raised a palsied, manacled hand to his son's pale face. "How you have grown," he murmured adoringly. "My beautiful, angry Peter."_

_Peter Bishop wiped a hand under his nose to wipe away stray tears – and almost laughed at the similarity to one of Olivia's bad habits. "I'm too tired to be angry anymore, Dad. And I'm sure as hell not beautiful. But if there's one thing Olivia would want me to do, it's fight."_

"_Just like you said. She taught you how. I think she taught us all how," Walter agreed._

_Peter nodded. "I know how you felt now, Walter." At Walter's puzzled expression, he added, "I know how it feels now to love someone so much that you're willing to sacrifice anything."_

"_But you're sacrificing yourself, son."_

"_Only for a little while, Walter," he smiled through new tears. "If this works, only for a little while…"_

Olivia ran onto the Bridge, holding her ears against the howling, groaning sounds emanating from the Machine. "Astrid!" she shouted above the din, "I thought I told you to leave!"

"And go where?" she responded. "The sound is everywhere on the island."

"Can't you turn it off?" the other Olivia asked, genuinely puzzled. "I thought Walter said you had some sort of connection to it."

"Yeah, because of the Cortexiphan. I can unlock it, or disable its security settings, but I can't turn it on or off." Olivia stood in front of the Machine, watching it vibrate from the effort of operation. "What is going on?" she murmured to it. "What – "

She gasped as the area reserved for the Machine's unknown operator suddenly began to shimmer.

She looked over at Astrid and Lincoln, who had just entered. "Tell me you see that," she said.

"Holy shit," Lincoln breathed, blinking and removing his glasses to clean them.

"Walter was right. Someone's trapped. Someone… " Olivia moved closer to the Machine.

"Olivia, no! Move away!" Astrid called.

_Don't say I never took you anywhere…_

Olivia stepped closer as the image grew sharper.

_Are you ready?_

Another step. She held out her hand. The image, still glimmering, looked like…

_You can do this…_

Thomas Jerome Newton was furious. He had thought from the very beginning that the Secretary's idea of building a secondary Machine was preposterous. But the Secretary had been adamant; they had no idea how the Bridge had been built, but he knew for certain that he didn't want those people to have the same kind of access to it. So he wanted a failsafe – and what better place to hide a machine of great electro-magnetic power than at an asylum? ECT equipment would go unnoticed, and mostly unused, unless absolutely necessary.

So, the second Machine was built, using schematics the Lincoln Lee of his universe had copied from memory during his time with Olivia Dunham and the other Fringe team. It was rudimentary, almost crude, but Secretary Bishop was certain it would work nearly as well, tearing holes in his enemy's universe. All he needed was a pilot.

He sent Thomas Jerome Newton to St. Claire's to start testing patients, under the guise of routine exams, for their tolerance to electrical stimulation. It didn't take long before he hit the jackpot – Cameron King, found near Reiden Lake with no memory, no family, no story at all, after being hit by lightning. It was almost too good to be true.

However, a spanner was thrown into the works when the other Walter Bishop began hallucinating, and ultimately had to be institutionalized. The logical place for him to go was St. Claire's, where he'd been once before. New orders were issued – do not let Walter Bishop near The Boy, as he'd been dubbed.

Leave it to a useless human like Bruce Sumner to throw the two men in each others' paths almost immediately. To make matters worse, they had formed an instant bond.

And now, Newton had to clean up the mess, or risk the wrath of the Secretary. He looked forward to wiping the chronic smirk off King's face. But his enjoyment was short-lived when he saw the obnoxious git was actually smiling. So many thousands of volts of electricity were streaming through his body that Newton could swear the man was almost glimmering, but there he was, smiling. "How is this amusing to you, Cameron?" he seethed.

Blood ran freely from Cameron's nose and ears, but still, he laughed. "You lose," he gritted through his teeth as a silver coin appeared in his hand.

Walter's eyes widened.

Newton turned the dial to maximum.

"Peter!" Walter screamed as the room was filled with a purple light.


	14. Chapter 14

The Secretary entered the Bridge Room just as Olivia Dunham was approaching the Machine. He hated Olivia Dunham; he could never quite pinpoint why, but he knew that she was a major obstacle to his plans.

His alter had said she had a connection to the Machine; it appeared she was about to utilize it – and that was unacceptable. If Newton couldn't fix this fiasco, he'd have to do it himself.

He had just spoken to Brandon Fayette; to his astonishment, his assistant had informed him that reports had started coming in of anomalies closing, holes sealing themselves, and - most shocking of all, - ambered areas reverting to the original states. Impossible, he thought. Newton had made a mess of things at St. Claire's, and his project was a failure – although he'd never admit it aloud. The project hadn't been designed to heal any portion of his own universe anyway; it was merely to make _them_ pay.

The Secretary knew he should be excited by this turn of events, if true – but to his shame, he wasn't. To the people of his world, Secretary of Defense Walter Bishop was a savior, a man dedicated to nothing but the well-being of the citizens in his care. But if he were being honest with himself, Walter Bishop was nearly as much of a hollow shell as his insane alternate. His life was more about vengeance and power than anything else, and he would be damned if anything – or anyone like Olivia Dunham – got in his way.

He watched as Olivia's hand reached out to the Machine and a bright purple light filled the room. The air was suddenly still as she came face to face with the man suspended in the Machine's pilot house. The metal restraints around his arms and legs released, and the figure took a staggering step forward. Tears sprang to Olivia's eyes. "Peter," she sobbed.

"Olivia… " They approached each other, but Peter looked over her shoulder and saw the gun in the Secretary's hand. "Down!" he screamed, knocking her to the ground as the Secretary fired.

Astrid, Lincoln and Liv drew their weapons, and pointed them at the Secretary. As soon as Peter had helped Olivia up, he turned toward the Fringe team, blocking their line of sight to the Secretary. "No," he wheezed. His left arm flared with pain as he tried to lift it; blood streamed from a bullet wound in his bicep. He turned to the Secretary. "Enough."

Secretary Walter Bishop kept his pistol aimed squarely at Peter's chest. "Please," Peter begged, his bloodshot eyes pleading even more than his voice. "Father, please. That's enough. The rift is closing. No more. Go home."

He lowered his weapon slightly. "Brandon says holes are closing. Someone saw… " his voice caught in his throat. "Someone saw a crocus in Central Park. It's entirely the wrong time of year for crocuses."

Peter laughed hollowly. "Yeah, well, so my timing was off a little. But your world will heal now."

The Secretary dropped his gun, and Olivia gestured to the team to put theirs away as well. Bishop shook his head in disbelief. "All these years, and it's done in an instant."

"Yes. It's done," Peter said wearily, the ordeal finally starting to take its toll. "So, please… leave us alone now." He allowed the tears to fall. "Go home. Try to… I dunno, start a new life. Lead your people well." He dragged his good hand through his hair. "Be happy, or something."

"You're not coming," the Secretary stated matter-of-factly.

"I told _you_ to go home, Father," Peter sighed. "I _am_ home." He staggered a bit; as Bishop moved toward him, he waved him off. "You don't have a lot of time. You need to go now. Please."

Liv Dunham looked at her counterpart. "Lucky you," she grinned, squeezing Olivia's arm as she turned to join the Secretary.

"Like Peter said, Liv," Olivia called to her. "Be happy."

Liv looked from her to Peter, and back, then winked. "Or something." She waved a salute to Lincoln. "See ya, Poindexter."

"Hey," Peter called as the Secretary and Liv were headed to the door. They turned. "Could you please… tell my mother… I'm sorry."

Bishop snorted. "As if you care," he sneered. "You may have saved the universes, but you still destroyed our lives. Enjoy yours with that shell of a man. May you never have a moment's peace, boy." And with that, Secretary Walter Bishop ushered Liv Dunham through the door back to their world.

Peter, Olivia, Astrid and Lincoln watched and listened as the Machine turned itself off, and the door faded to become a solid wall. "Wow," was all Lincoln could say. He looked admiringly at Peter. "Nice trick."

Olivia took a step toward Peter. He stumbled to meet her halfway. "Hi, honey, I'm home," he chuckled, before his eyes slid shut and he slumped to the floor.

Olivia caught him on the way down, landing with him in her lap. Astrid and Lincoln ran over as well. "I'll call 911," Lincoln offered.

"No need," the voice of Philip Broyles intoned behind them. "Medics from Massive Dynamic are on their way." He joined the team as they surrounded Olivia and Peter. "Well, well. Peter Bishop," he said, smiling.

Olivia checked touched her fingers to Peter's neck, relieved to feel a thready but existing pulse. She stroked his cheek in disbelief. "Peter," she whispered as she watched his eyes open. "Hey," she smiled. "You sure know how to make an entrance."

Peter returned Olivia's smile. "You're alive. Again," he said hoarsely, and began to laugh. "What a ride."

Disturbed by Peter's near-hysterical state, she began stroking his cheek again. "Shh, easy now. It's all right. God, you're burning up." She took the handkerchief Broyles held out to her and pressed it to Peter's arm, earning a hiss of pain from him. "Shh, I'm sorry, I know it hurts."

"I'm fine," he mumbled, content to stare into Olivia's eyes. He tore his gaze away briefly to smile at Astrid. "Hi."

Astrid laughed through her own tears. "Hi," she said.

Peter suddenly grasped Olivia's sleeve and tried to sit up. "Oh, my God! Walter! I need to get Walter… Olivia… please… go get my dad… please?"

"Easy, Peter, I'm on it," Broyles soothed him. He pulled out his cell. "I'm going to arrange for his immediate release from St. Claire's. And if that idiot Sumner doesn't like it, he can kiss my black ass."

After a moment of stunned silence, Olivia replied, "Thank you, sir. See, Peter? It's okay. We're going to get Walter for you. You did it. You saved us. Just rest now."

Peter smiled as he felt unconsciousness looming, but as he laid his head on Olivia's shoulder, he managed to say, "I'm home," before the darkness took him.


	15. Chapter 15

Olivia Dunham sat at Peter Bishop's bedside and stared. She held his bandaged hand, played with his hair, and stared. She stared at the oh-so-familiar blondish-brown stubble; stared at the instantly-recognizable long eyelashes.

And Olivia Dunham wondered how she could have ever forgotten any of it – how she could have forgotten _him_. It was like forgetting how to breathe.

She was wiping a threatening tear from her eye when a sleepy voice said, "You'll give a guy a complex with the ogling, Dunham."

Olivia laughed. "Vanity, thy name is Bishop. I was actually thinking that you need a haircut." She tugged on an errant curl for emphasis. He playfully swatted her hand away as he tried to sit up, wincing at the sharp pain in his arm. She gently put her arm around him and placed two extra pillows behind him. "Be careful, you lost a lot of blood. No permanent nerve or muscle damage, though."

"Excellent. My musical career is saved," he joked.

"Well, you do play a mean jazz piano." She smoothed his hair back tenderly as she spoke.

"When I get outta here, I shall play you a symphony, m'lady," he said grandly. His face turned serious. "Hey, I know that look. What gives?"

"I just… " Olivia shook her head. "How, Peter? How did you do it? And why? I'm assuming it was your choice to wipe yourself from the timeline, but why?"

_Because you could live without me…but I could never live without you,_ he thought to himself. "It seemed the logical thing to do at the time?" he offered.

She resisted the urge to punch him in his wounded arm. "Seriously? I'm asking you a question like this, and you answer me with a Star Trek quote?"

He shrugged, wincing again. "I don't know what to say, Olivia. I came up with a solution, and the solution had consequences. Really, really _big_ consequences." He sighed, and looked at her stern face. "I honestly didn't see another way. I'd seen the end of the world. The end of everything. It was horrible. And it was my fault."

"Peter, it was not – "

"It was my fault, and I had to fix it," he finished. "Which I thought I did. But, something happened. I… I got stuck. Or at least, a part of me did. It felt like something had grabbed me and wouldn't let go. Part of the Machine wanted to just spit me out, but then another part wouldn't cut me loose. It was just... "

Olivia noticed Peter's hands had begun to shake, and she took them in hers. They were cold. "Shh, it's okay. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. We'll deal with all of that later. All that matters is that you're home. You're here, and you're real."

"I'm real," Peter breathed, looking at their entwined fingers. Then he chuckled. "I'm real, all right." He gestured toward the bandage on his hand. "Like _Velveteen Rabbit _real."

She laughed, and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. "I'll take you any way I can get you, Bishop," she said.

"Glad to hear it," he replied.

"Peter," Olivia began, "Newton was gone when the authorities arrived. They picked up Sumner for questioning, and he confessed to helping Newton kill Dr. Kohuth. He had discovered the Machine during a private session with another doctor."

Peter nodded, still concentrating on his hands in Olivia's. "Okay," he said quietly. "That's good... that's good."

"I don't know what to say to you. I'm so sorry."

Peter finally lifted his head. "Sorry? For what? Olivia, did you and Lee get married or something while I was gone?" he ribbed her, trying to lighten the mood.

"Stop it, Peter," she scolded him. "I'm serious. You saved us. You saved all of us. And we… just went on with our lives like you'd never existed."

"Not _like_ I'd never existed, Olivia. I hadn't ever existed. I didn't. It's okay. Really."

"Well, you're a hell of a lot more understanding than I'd be, if somebody just blithely went about their business not even noticing I was – Ohhhhh… " Olivia put her hand over her mouth, tears springing instantly to her eyes. "Oh, God, Peter…"

"Whoa," he said. "No, no, no. Don't even go there. This was completely different. You had every right to hate my guts back then." He pried her hand away from her mouth, and wiped away the tears that streamed down her face. "Now, stop. Okay? Please, for me. Just stop. We have a second chance, Olivia. Please, let's not waste it dwelling on the past."

She nodded her agreement, still not trusting her voice. "Good," he said cheerfully. "Now… where were we before we were so rudely interrupted by fate, and the Machine, and the end of the world?" He knit his eyebrows in mock concentration for a moment. "Now what was I gonna say? Ah, yes, I remember now." He reached out and cupped her cheek with his good hand, delicately stroking her skin with his thumb. "I love you, too," he said simply, and recaptured her lips.

Astrid rubbed Walter's back soothingly as they waited in the hospital hallway. "Walter, calm down. Why are you so nervous?"

"I'm _not_ nervous," he snapped. His face fell. "I'm sorry… I just don't know how to face him. Astrid, I forgot him."

"Walter, we didn't forget him. Not really. You said yourself that the timeline shifted. But it's shifted back now. It's all right now," Astrid said.

"How he must have suffered. Dear God, what must it have been like for him? A literal portion of his essence was trapped in the Machine, being torn apart constantly, possibly even being shifted among realities. I can't even imagine… "

Walter was interrupted by Olivia exiting Peter's room. At his and Astrid's expectant faces, she smiled. "He's awake, and he's fine. He's still a little weak, and running a fever, but he's fine. He's… he's more than fine. He's _Peter_," she gushed. She had to laugh – the notoriously stoic Olivia Dunham was gushing like a schoolgirl. "And he wants to see his dad."

Walter grinned and enveloped her in a hug before walking to the door. He stopped, and turned back toward Olivia and Astrid. "Go on, Walter. Don't keep your son waiting," Olivia smiled.

"My son," Walter said as if it were a prayer. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open just enough to poke his head through. "Peter?" he asked meekly, not even daring to look in his son's direction.

"That's me. Cameron King has left the building," Peter replied. When Walter didn't move, he added, "Walter, if your head is going to come in…"

Walter entered the room, chuckling. "The rest of me might as well join it, eh?" His breath caught in his throat as he finally laid eyes on his son. He looked just about the same as he had at St. Claire's, save for the freshly bandaged bullet wound on his arm, but this was _Peter_. _His_ Peter.

"Oh," he breathed, seating himself on the bed, careful to avoid the few wires and IV tubes. Reaching a shaky hand toward Peter's face, he traced its outline without touching it.

"Hi," Peter said softly, gifting him with a watery smile as he took the hovering hand in his.

"Hello," Walter replied, his voice trembling as much as his hands. "My son… " With his free hand, he finally touched Peter's cheek, his gentle touch sweeping up the bridge of his nose to his forehead, tracing the furrow between his brows. "Hello," he said again, with a wistful smile. "You always frowned too much."

Peter reached toward Walter and traced the nearly identical crease on his father's brow. "We both did. Where do you think I got it from?" he half-laughed, half-sniffled.

"Oh… my beautiful boy... I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry…" Walter wept, holding Peter's face in his hands and leaning in to touch their foreheads together.

Peter ignored the twinge of pain in his arm as he wrapped Walter in his arms and buried his face in his father's neck. "Hey, stop. I'm here, Walter," he whispered, his voice catching in a sob. "I'm home now." He raised his head and looked at Walter. "We're okay now, yeah, Dad?" As Walter nodded, Peter gathered him into his arms again and rocked him. "Okay."

Peter saw the door to his room open again, and Astrid looked at him questioningly. He nodded, and she and Olivia came in. "Oh, my God, Peter," Astrid exclaimed, bursting into tears and hurling herself at him as soon as he'd released Walter.

"Whoa!" he laughed as Astrid nearly hugged all the air from his lungs. "Hi yourself. How's my sister from another mother?"

Tears streamed down Astrid's face. "She's missed her brother. Even though she didn't.. Peter, I just… I can't believe… I'm just so… "

"Stop!" Peter yelled, holding up his good arm. "Everybody just stop. If one more person tries to apologize to me, I swear I'm going to wind up back in the asylum. Listen to me." He looked around. "All of you. You have no reason to apologize. There is nothing to apologize for." He squeezed Astrid's shoulder. "I mean, look at it this way. I wasn't forgotten. I was just… " A sly smile crossed his lips. "_Misplaced_."

Astrid laughed. "Only you would look at it like that."

"That's my story, and I'm sticking to it." He gestured toward the door. "Looks like it's time for another visit from the Vampire Squad."

Brandon Fayette frowned as he entered the room. "I'm sorry, Mr. Bishop. I've been instructed to take some blood samples."

As Walter moved to allow Brandon access to Peter, Peter looked askance at the young scientist. "First, since when am I Mr. Bishop?"

"Since your father owns the company, Mr. Bishop," Olivia joked.

"And second, the doctors have already bled me dry, what do you need more for?"

"That would be for me, son," Walter chimed in. "I realized that this would be a marvelous opportunity to investigate the effects of prolonged electro-magnetic energy exposure on the human body. Research on the effects of zero-gravity have led to any number of..."

"Okay, okay," Peter interrupted. "I'm so glad I can be of assistance in the march of scientific progress," he snarked.

Walter's eyes filled again with tears. "No! Oh, son, no, I would never..."

"I'm joking, Walter!" Peter shouted. "Take it easy!" He gingerly held his uninjured arm out to Brandon. "Stick away, Brandon." He turned away as Fayette took his samples. "So, when can I get outta here?"

"Couple of days," Olivia answered. "At which time, we take you home and tuck you into bed, where you will stay for another 2 weeks. Then, we'll talk about letting you think about going back to work."

"I like the tucking into bed part," Peter said, waggling his eyebrows at Olivia.

"Oh, get a room, you two," Astrid giggled.

"I plan to," Peter grinned as Olivia blushed.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Epilogue**_

Walter Bishop awoke bright and early, and got dressed. He'd learned his lesson about proper morning attire one day when he'd taken his usual stroll to the kitchen _sans _clothing, and run into Olivia. He'd never guessed Olivia for a blusher, but she'd turned an unattractive shade of cotton-candy pink. Walter decided not to risk a repeat of the event.

Making his way downstairs, he stopped in front of the door to Peter's room. _Correction_, he thought to himself; Peter and _Olivia's_ room. He hadn't heard any nocturnal activities the night before, but then again, they were both quiet, internal types. Walter wondered just how vocal either of them was during sexual intercourse; he knew Peter would be more than able to satisfy Olivia, having seen evidence of his son's physical endowment one day when he walked in on him in the shower. He touched the door affectionately before continuing downstairs.

As he puttered around the kitchen gathering the ingredients for his famous waffles, he had to laugh at how wonderfully normal everything seemed at that very moment. Just a few short weeks ago, he'd been a lonely, crazy old man in St. Claire's Mental Hospital, and the universe had been close to extinction. And here he was now, whisking pancake batter on a beautiful, ordinary day, in a balanced universe as his son slept safely and soundly upstairs with his girlfriend… or, dare Walter hope one day, fiancée?

He had just turned the stove on for his first batch when he heard a knock on the door. Looking askance at the clock, he took a quick glance out the window, and saw a Massive Dynamic limousine parked outside the house. He walked to the living room, and opened the door in time to see Nina Sharpe coming to the door. "Why, Nina! How lovely to see you this morning. But I'm not scheduled to return to work until tomorrow. Peter and I will be driving down together." He tugged his robe tighter as he spoke.

Nina smiled. "You were never such a one for modesty, Walter. It's just me."

Walter chortled, ushered her inside and gestured to her to have a seat on the couch. "Is Peter here, Walter?" Nina asked. "How is he feeling?"

"Oh, yes, he and Agent Dunham are upstairs asleep. _Together_," he added gleefully. "He's much better. Still a bit banged up and tired, but he's... he's wonderful."

"Walter," Nina said, "We need to talk."

Peter rubbed his eyes, yawned, cleared his throat, and reached for one of the two toothbrushes Walter had kindly left on the bathroom sink for him and Olivia. All thought of brushing vanished, however, as two slim, strong hands snaked around his waist, untying the belt of his robe and slipping inside. "Unhand me, woman," he joked, leaning back into Olivia's touch.

"Never," she whispered against his back, hugging him close. "Good morning."

"Mornin'," he yawned, turning to face her. "Sorry if I woke you."

Olivia shook her head. "You didn't."

"Oh, playing possum, eh?" he chuckled, kissing her lightly.

"I'd rather be playing other games," she murmured against his lips.

"Hold that thought, I think I hear Walter downstairs," he smiled. "C'mon." Olivia re-tied Peter's robe, buttoned an extra button on the shirt - his - that she had thrown on, and took his hand.

They walked downstairs, and into the now-smoky kitchen. Peter scowled at the burning pancake he saw as he walked over and turned off the stove. "Hey Walter, I think this pancake's a goner," he called out. "What did we say about paying attention while we're cooking? Walter?"

"Oh!" Olivia exclaimed as she saw Nina and Walter in the living room. Nervously, she tried to pull the shirt to reach her knees. "Um, hi, Nina. What brings you here?"

Nina smiled affectionately. "Hello, dear. Don't worry, you look lovely."

Peter entered the room behind her, coughing. "Nina? Walter, if you're going to invite company over for breakfast, try not burning the breakfast," he choked out, bending slightly as another cough overtook him.

Walter jumped up from the couch, ran to Peter and grasped the lapel of his robe. "Let me see," he said frantically, pulling the robe off his shoulder.

"Hey!" Peter exclaimed. "Take it easy. What's with the manhandling?" He looked down at his own shoulder and noticed the bruise. "Oh, that."

Olivia's eyes went wide. "Peter, did I do that? Last night?" she asked softly, mortified. Peter shrugged.

"Oh, God," Walter moaned. "Where else are you bruised? How long has this been happening?"

"Hello, Peter. Walter, let's sit down again, all right?" Nina said, patting the couch seat next to her. Peter led Walter to the couch and guided him down, then sat with Olivia on the loveseat.

"Now, breathe, all right? In, and out." Nina kept talking to Walter as Walter's breathing slowed. "That's better. Peter, that's quite a bruise. How long have you had it?" she began.

"Uh, I dunno. Never really paid attention." At Walter's terrified expression, he said, "Okay, now, listen. You know as well as I do that the orderlies at St. Claire's - besides being shapeshifters - weren't exactly gentle touches, right? I got a little banged up there. " He paused to cough into his sleeve. "It's not a big deal," he added, his voice hoarse.

Olivia leaned over and placed the back of her hand gently on his forehead. "You catching a cold? You feel a little warm."

"He's not catching a cold," Walter said flatly. "You've been bruising. You've been running a low-grade fever since you came back."

"Walter, I got electrocuted. _Twice_, in three months. _And _shot. A guy's gonna be a little outta whack after that, don't you think? The docs at the Massive Dynamic infirmary said I just have to rest up a little to get my immune system back on track."

"Nina just gave me the results of the blood samples I sent to the lab for analysis while you were in the hospital."

"I thought the samples were for research," Olivia said suspciously. "What else did you test them for, and why?"

"Because I own the place," Walter snapped. "Because they have more sophisticated testing methods. And because," he reached out and took Peter's hand, "This is my son."

Peter leaned over and patted Walter's hand. "Okay, Walter, that's fine. So, what's the scoop?"

"I should have known. I just should have known. The timeline was restored, but you… you were re-set."

"Walter..." Nina said.

"Re-set? I don't understand," Peter admitted.

"It wasn't the same cure as his. I thought it was just a modification. To stabilize the compound. That was his mistake. The damned compound wasn't stable, and he wasn't paying attention…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Dad," Peter stopped him. "What are you talking about? Are you talking about when I was a kid? When I was sick? When… "

"When I took you. Yes," Walter admitted. "I only sent the sample as a precautionary measure. Just to make sure you were all right. I never expected…" Walter clutched Peter's hand to his chest. "This isn't fair. You sacrificed everything for us. And… "

Peter took his hand from Walter's. "I'm sick again, aren't I? The hepia. It's back," he said without emotion.

"It's not hepia, per se," Walter said, trying to be clinical. "It's similar, but it's also tied to a genetic anomaly unique to your physiognomy."

Olivia, desperately trying to remain calm, asked, "Can't you just look up the cure in your file, and administer it again? That should work, shouldn't it?"

"Not necessarily, Olivia," Nina said sadly.

Peter jumped in. "It's possible that the modification Walter made to the compound made it compatible for… " Peter swallowed thickly. "For _his_ Peter. But for me, it just made the symptoms dormant. Until now. Until what happened at St. Claire's re-set my genetic code to my alternate origins. I'd been here for so long, my system had adapted. Evolved, almost. But now… " He shrugged. "Not so much, I guess."

"No!" Olivia shouted, standing so quickly that plates clattered from the table to the floor.

"Livia, take it easy," Peter said, standing as well.

"Take it easy? Take it easy? We just got you back. You sacrificed yourself to save both universes, and this is the thanks you get? Nina showing up on our doorstep and pronouncing your death sentence? I don't think so."

"There must be a way," Walter muttered. "If my cure sent the illness into a dormant phase for this long, half my work is done for me. I simply have to modify the modification."

"Walter," Peter said, sitting again and taking Walter's hands in his. "I don't want you obsessing on this to the point where you make yourself sick, okay? I'm gonna need you if this gets bad, ya hear me? We're both gonna need you."

"I can do this, son," Walter insisted, tears in his eyes.

"I know you can, Dad," Peter agreed. "But, just take it one step at time, all right? I have no intention of going anywhere for a very long time. We'll deal with this the way we always do. Together. We know the problem, and now we just have to work it out."

"Damn right," Olivia agreed, linking an arm with Peter's, and placing her free hand on Walter's. "And I'll be here to help. And like you said, Walter… I don't fail, and I will do anything I have to do."

"See that, Walter? We've got this in the bag," Peter said comfortingly. "Hey, I just saved two universes - and my existence - all by my lonesome. With a team like this, saving my life should be a piece of cake." Walter watched Peter's face pale as he nervously squeezed his hand. "Right?"

"Right," Walter whispered. "Right."

THE... END?


End file.
